


icing sugar

by lilbabyc



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Breeding, Breeding Kink, Daddy Kink, Dark Steve Rogers, Dark!Steve, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, steve is hella angry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbabyc/pseuds/lilbabyc
Summary: steve wants a baby and he's willing to do anything to convince the reader to feel the same way.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 149
Kudos: 501





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year to all of you!! :) i've been working on this one for a few days and i'm a little nervous about it.
> 
> i'm open to making this one shot a series so if that's what y'all are interested in, then please let me know. and as always, any feedback is welcome and appreciated!! enjoy! :)

You’ve got an apron tied in a knot around your waist and looped around your neck, dancing to one of your playlists. You mindlessly mouth the words, checking the timer on the oven one more time - _10 minutes left_ \- before beginning to ice the cookies that you’ve already made. The beat of the song picks up and you can’t help but shake your hips at the change in rhythm, spreading blue icing sugar on a star-shaped cookie. Warm hands suddenly encircle your waist, making you _drop the cookie_ and squeal. How had you not noticed him come in?

“You’re quite the dancer there,” he laughs loudly at you, nuzzling his nose in your neck and making you giggle.

“Only for you,” you turn around in his arms and kiss his nose, dipping your finger in icing and smearing it on the tip of it. He scrunches up his face - _adorable_ \- and licks your cheek playfully, making you squirm in his arms. You then lick the icing off his nose and he groans, fingers digging into your sides. This makes you struggle in his arms even more, almost knocking down the tray of cookies.

“Steve- _Steve!”_ you exclaim, as his torture only becomes more intense. 

“You started this war, babydoll,” he grins at you, leaning in to nip at your neck gently. “And you know that I could do-”

“-this all day, yes I know, buddy,” you finish for him breathlessly as you shove at his shoulders but naturally, because he’s built like a _wall_ , he doesn’t even budge. 

He merely looks down at his shoulders with an amused smile on his face before making eye contact with you. With an eyebrow raised, he looks you up and down slowly and the playfulness suddenly drains from his face. Your brow furrows in concern, and you raise your hand up to smooth a thumb over his cheek.

“What’s up, Stevie?” you question him, thumb running over his eyebrow affectionately. He says nothing but after removing your apron, he takes your hand and leads you to the living room. The abrupt change in his mood makes you nervous, your brain immediately jumping to the worst conclusions. _Is he cheating on you? Are you too overbearing? Annoying? Is he gonna break up with you because you’re too time-consuming? Too needy? Are-_

“Y/N, I’m gonna tell you something and I don’t want you to freak out. I think this’ll be good for the both of us and I want you to be open-minded about it...” Steve begins and you jump, not having realized that he had sat the both of you down on one of your couches. Your hand is still clasped in his, but you can’t tell whether this is a good or bad sign which only makes the erratic beating of your heart faster. You take deep breaths to try and calm yourself, briefly closing your eyes to try and regain your composure. When you open your eyes, Steve’s staring at you. “...Baby, are you okay?”

Your stress flares up in the worst way. You scoff in disbelief and snatch your hand out of his, instantly regretting it when his eyes darken and his lips draw together in a thin line. “Just peachy, Steve. I’d be doing better you weren’t dragging out whatever the _fuck_ you want to say. Communication is a two-way street, and I’d love to know what this is about. So just _say_ it, godammit.”

Your husband inhales deeply through his nose and his eyes close, making your blood run cold. _God, you_ **_so_ ** _fucked up_. Feeling the need to curl in on yourself, you tuck your legs underneath you, the arms of Steve’s white oversized sweatshirt - that you stole - covering your hands as they shake. You blink rapidly, short breaths drawing in from your lips, stopping completely when those dark blue eyes pin you to the couch. His hand comes up to grab your upper arm to steady you, squeezing it harshly and making you whimper quietly. You only really register that he’s dealt you a swift backhand after you taste salt on your tongue, bringing a hand up to your face and seeing it come back wet with your tears.

“I try to be nice,” he drawls slowly, fear running up your spine. “I just want you to be a good girl for me, doll. But time and time again,” he softly runs the index finger of the hand that just _slapped you_ along the underside of your jaw, causing you to shake even more violently, “you do nothing but disappoint me. You’ll get your punishment later but for now, I have a far more pressing issue to discuss with you… that is, if you’re going to be a good girl for Daddy-”

_There it is_. As much as it used to make you uncomfortable when he pushed you to use it, it now makes a shock of arousal shoot straight to the heat between your legs. He knows exactly what it does it you too, a sinister smirk spreading across his face. Your breath hitches and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to fight off that feeling because you know what comes next.

“-and listen? Hmm? Can you do that for your Daddy, baby?” he finishes, and you can feel his eyes on you, closely watching your reaction. You nod, eyes still closed until he suddenly grips your chin, which makes your eyes open in surprise. There’s a scowl on his face now and you avert your eyes, terrified, but he squeezes your jaw even tighter. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, Y/N - c’mon, you know this. Now what was that?”

You lock eyes with him at his command, breathing in quickly before replying, “Yes, I’ll listen.”

“Yes what?”

You want to close your eyes again in an attempt to hide from the humiliation of the whole thing, but you stay as you are, voice shaking when you correct yourself: “Yes, Daddy.”

His grin is almost like that of a shark, teeth glinting, before he gathers your trembling form in his arms and pulls you onto his lap. When his arms encircle you, he presses the place where his hand had grabbed your arm which makes you involuntarily moan in pain, more tears spilling out of the corners of your eyes. Steve’s gaze darkens further, and his tongue comes out to lick his lips. It feels like someone has poured ice water down your back when you feel his dick twitch underneath you.

“Oh, babydoll,” he coos, saccharine-sweet, and you decide that it makes you want to throw up. “You know why I had to do that, right? I wouldn’t have to hurt you if you’d just listen to me. And look at those tears,” he leans in to lick your cheek but unlike before, this makes your stomach turn and bile rise in your throat. “Such a pretty girl, all for me, huh?”

You know what’ll happen if you, once again, fail to reply in the way that he’s expecting you to. So dutifully, you respond with a choked-up, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he plays with the massive rock on your left hand and smiles down on you almost dotingly, but you know better. There’s something darker behind American’s golden-boy and you hate that you’re the one who has had to find that out. “Now, let’s talk. I’m not gonna beat around the bush here, doll-” _ironic,_ you think “-so I’m gonna be straight with you. I was talkin’ to Sam and Buck and Clint and I’ve decided that I wanna be a daddy for real. I want a baby, doll.”

Four words have never brought you so much stress in your entire life. Your cheek stings and your arm hurts but that’s not even in your top 5 of pressing concerns right now. As it stands, the list looks like this:

  1. _Baby_
  2. _Baby_
  3. _Baby_
  4. _Baby_
  5. _Baby_



You’d expected that your mind would go into overdrive but it did the exact opposite. It _stopped_ . Your thought process comes to a screeching halt and you can’t even bring yourself to blink. _Am I breathing?_ Steve has now flipped over your hand, drawing circles on your palm and continues to stare intently at your face. 

A baby. You’d discussed it before, both of you, and agreed that you would wait until you had graduated from university. Your degree is _everything_ to you, and working towards earning that doctorate consumes a huge portion of your time. But you’re almost done: graduation is in May and that means only a few months left of school before you are done and can start thinking seriously about starting a family. This is a clear plan in your head, and you’re fine waiting several months, several _years_ , even. But you know that Steve has been chomping at the bit - he often volunteers the both of you to babysit Clint’s children, always making comments about how you’d soon have children of your own one day - _“...baby, you look so good like that…”_ and _“...I can’t wait ‘till we have a bunch of our own runnin’ around...”_ \- but it’s always so innocent so you’ve always laughed and brushed it off. 

Until now. 

“Darling?” Steve probes, obviously growing impatient at your lack of response. 

You know for a fact that you’ll be digging your own grave if you outright refuse him so instead, you muster up a weak smile - your cheek _protesting_ \- and look into his eyes imploringly.

“Steve, you know I would love to. But I thought that we agreed that I was going to finish school first…?” you trail off at the end, scared that he’ll lash out.

Surprisingly, his hands lift to your face. Reflexively, you flinch and in his eyes, you can see a hint of _Stevie_ \- vulnerable, emotional, and upset that you’re scared of him - but then they flash back to the man that you’ve come to know as your husband. When his palm presses down on where he hit you, you hiss at the pain but he shushes you quietly.

“Listen, Y/N,” he says. “I personally don’t see what the problem is. We love each other and you’ve made an honest man out of me, so there’s no _real_ issue here. All of the ones that you do have are all in your head. Your degree is almost done - you’ll graduate in a few months but it’s not like you would’ve given birth by then. You’ll be, what, maybe four or five months? That’s only half-way through. You have plenty of time to finish school comfortably, so there’s that problem solved.”

_He’s starting to make sense_ , you think. _Maybe all of my worries are irrational and I’m just being a little bitch for no reason. This poor man - my_ **_husband_ ** _\- who I made a vow to support is asking me to do what I’m supposed to. I’m overreacting, surely. It can’t be as bad as I’m making it out to-_

“But what about you?” the rational part of your brain gets to your mouth before the other side does. 

He jerks his head back, looking surprised for a minute. Then a cloud of confusion and _menace_ falls over his face. You feel threatened already and he hasn’t even opened his mouth.

“What _about_ me?” 

You swallow, licking your suddenly very _dry_ lips quickly, and try to find some confidence to speak your mind. “I mean, you’ve addressed my issues. But you’re never _here_ , Steve. Your missions can last _months_ at a time and I don’t think I can do this whole parenting thing alone.”

Once you finish your sentence, silence hangs heavy in the air. The only thing you can hear is the ticking of the clock on the mantel of the fireplace. And then he _laughs._ It starts quiet, making you strain your ears in case you’re hearing him wrong. But the volume begins to increase, echoing against the high ceilings of your house and making you recoil from him in horror as a full-bodied laugh overcomes him and his eyes land on you - _mocking you_. 

“Honey,” he gasps, chuckling as he recovers from his sudden laughing fit. “You really expect _me_ to sacrifice my time for this baby?” His face grows oddly serious all of a sudden, and you try to scamper off of his lap only for you to be held even tighter. “That’s not my responsibility. I go to work and provide for my family, while you stay home to take care of them. You know what the problem is? All of this _new-age modern-woman bullshit_ . You’ve got all these ideas in your head about being the bread-winner, but that’s just not the way things were done back then. And since this is _my house_ ,” your blood runs cold at that, “I enforce the rules, sweetheart.”

There are a few seconds where neither of you say anything and your breathing becomes louder in your ears. Steve suddenly claps his hands with an air of finality, giving you that same predatory grin.

“Now,” he says. “I seem to have solved all of your problems, darling girl,” he spreads his hands wide as if he’s done something _benevolent_ , “so what do you say, Y/N?”

You can only sit there, mouth gaping open like a fish. Struggling to find the words to respond to his question, you just blink up at him. Once, twice, three times. Your lack of response seems to bother him greatly and he scowls fiercely at you. His hands grip your arms in the same fashion as before, and he shakes you almost as if to wake you up from whatever trance you’ve fallen into. 

“Well?”

“I-I think t-that we-” your voice shakes and you trip over your words, despite the fact that you’re speaking slowly.“I think that we should s-stick to the plan we had b-before, baby,” you almost implore him. You close your eyes and move backwards, preparing for the blow that you know he’s about to give you.

But surprisingly, it never comes. You slowly peel your eyes open and your husband is sitting in front of you with a resigned expression. He avoids eye contact and heaves a great sigh, hands coming up to _rub your legs?_

_What the fuck._

“That’s okay, doll,” he pouts, continuing his movements. “It was worth a shot, I guess. It just kinda sucks ‘cause I thought that you’d wanna do this for me… But I guess it’s obvious that I love you more than you love me, huh?”

He ends the sentence with a self-deprecating snort and a shake of his head, moving to stand up which makes you slide off of him. You stare up at the blonde man in disbelief, dazed and confused. You feel _bad._ But you decide to stick to your guns, clearing your throat and opening your mouth, ready to placate him.

“Stevie-”

He sharply raises his hand to cut you off, still refusing to look at you. “It’s okay, baby, I told you. I guess we shoulda had this conversation _before_ we got married-” _you did, but okay_ “-and that’s on me. Maybe then I woulda picked the right dame to marry.”

_Wow._ His words stab right through your heart, the shock and _pain_ of it all making you audibly gasp. You can feel the tears in your eyes because oh my God, that was _harsh._ Deciding that you can’t be around him a minute longer, you rush to the nearest guest bedroom, locking the door and diving underneath the sheets. You can’t help the sobs that wrack through your chest nor the fat tears that slip down your cheeks. You lose track of time - it could’ve been minutes or _hours._ But soon, the welcome release of sleep overtakes you.

\---

You wake up with a start, unsure about what exactly has startled you so violently from your sleep. Over you hovers a dark, well-built shadow who smells hauntingly familiar.

“Steve?” you mumble sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. He shushes you, placing a wide hand over your mouth. Your heart speeds up in panic.

“I want a baby, doll,” is what he says before tugging your shorts and panties down your legs. You kick at him, but he moves his body over you to keep you pinned to the mattress. “And if you’re not _offerin’_ to give me one...” he presses a kiss to your cheek before moving his lips right next to your ear to whisper something that makes your eyes go wide.

“...I guess Daddy will just have to take what he wants.”


	2. two, buckle my shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little backstory and then steve makes his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! you guys seemed to like this (and i wanted to write some more of it) so here we are with a little smut ;)
> 
> trigger warning: noncon/dubcon sex
> 
> any feedback is welcome and appreciated! enjoy! :)

It wasn’t always like this.

Tony was the one who had introduced the both of you, bringing you to one of the Avengers’ infamous movie nights. You remember the night clearly: it was raining and the movie was  _ Pulp Fiction _ . Steve and Bucky both needed to be caught up on all of the classics they had missed, Tony had told you, so the team was working through every iconic movie in each decade. You had nodded along, listening to your best friend intently. You and Tony met each other years ago - he was Rhodey’s best friend and you were Rhodey’s sister’s best friend. So the both of you had spent hours and hours in your elementary and early middle school years tormenting the two older men until they graduated. But the annual family reunions at the Rhodes family household caused the four of you to grow close - the young Stark even sought all three of you out for solace after the death of his parents - leading Tony to offer you a job at Stark Industries after getting your master’s degree. You accepted it graciously, and that was how you ended up squeezed in between Captain America and Iron Man on one fateful Wednesday.

_ Tony leaned closer to you, his signature smirk on his face, and your lips twitched up in a smile. _

_ “Hey, love bug,” he whispered and you involuntarily rolled your eyes at the  _ **_stupid_ ** _ nickname, just one of many in his extensive repertoire. “I’m pretty sure  _ **_Stevie_ ** _ over there likes you.” _

_ He drew out the last syllable of the sentence and your eyes rolled to the heavens once again - a reflex reaction around Tony.  _

_ “And how do you suppose that, Tony?” you whispered back, glancing at the blonde man to your left. He dozed quietly through the movie, everybody else too entranced by the film to wake him up. _

_ “He told me, doofus.” _

_ You gasped, eyes wide: “ _ **_No way_ ** _. He doesn’t even  _ **_like_ ** _ you.” _

_ Tony’s response was a punch in the shoulder and after your quiet ‘ow’, he continued, “No, I swear on… I don’t know,  _ **_Pepper_ ** _? I swear he told me, and he wanted some help because despite him bein’ quite the looker, he doesn’t know how to talk to women.” _

_ Sitting back, you let the information sink it. You had only spoken to him a handful of times, and each and every time, he’d been the perfect gentleman. He’d blush whenever you made a joke and stuttered if you ever complimented him. As a _ **_person with eyes_ ** **_™_ ** _ , you acknowledged that he was one of - if not the most - attractive people you had ever seen. And the fact that he was interested in  _ **_you_ ** _? Little old you, nothing  _ **_truly_ ** _ special: a fact you had known for your entire life. The thought of  _ **_the_ ** _ Steve Rogers having a crush on you made the butterflies in your stomach that had been dead for years come alive. _

From there onwards, your relationship had progressed. Your first date was on the roof of the compound - a picnic that had been organized by Tony and Natasha - and he kissed you for the first time on your fifth date. That was two years ago. He proposed on your one-year anniversary, and without question, you accepted the proposal. It was truly a dream come true. The wedding was soon after that, in the spring two months after, and it was beautiful. Your whole family came and of course, all of the Avengers were in attendance. Even Thor managed to make it.

But after the wedding, things had changed. Not immediately. Upon his insistence, the two of you hadn’t had sex until you were married, and you respected his wishes. The night of your wedding, you consummated your marriage with a session of  _ sweet and slow sex _ . It was exactly what you’d expected from a man like Steve Rogers. Loving, kind, thoughtful - he was perfect.

The first time he hit you was on your honeymoon.

It was close to the end of it, something which you were grateful for. You could still have fond memories of that vacation without having it completely soiled by what happened. You were in Cape Town. There was, admittedly, a very attractive waiter who was serving you, and his conversation was light, friendly, and  _ flirty.  _ But you would never purposely flirt back with him, especially  _ in front  _ of your husband. You were known to have what people called a  _ ‘flirty personality’ _ . Truly, it was that you enjoyed the jokes and the banter enough to reciprocate in the same manner -  _ harmless. _ And Steve was well aware of this. On numerous occasions, he joked about Bucky or Tony or Nat stealing you from him. And of course, you laughed and teased that maybe they would. But nothing ever came out of it. You just assumed that if he had a problem with your behavior, he would bring that up to you. Your assumption, like many others you had about your spouse, was incorrect.

_ “Steve,” you sighed exasperatedly while slipping your shoes off. You were sitting on the edge of the bed in the villa Tony had rented for the two of you. “You know it wasn’t a big deal… I was just being nice.” _

_ “Well, he wasn’t. You should’ve seen the way he looked at you, Y/N.” _

_ The gruff voice of your husband echoed in the en-suite bathroom, and you reached up to take off your earrings. This was confusing for you. Steve was never the type to be overtly jealous, even when there may have been reason to be. It was a new experience, but you realized that this was a part of married life: this possessiveness. It was cute. _

_ A smile on your lips, you stood up from the bed just as Steve was walking out of the bathroom. When he met your eyes, your smile faltered.  _ **_He was actually mad_ ** _. He had fully taken off his shirt and was standing in only black form-fitting slacks with a thick black belt at the waist. Sauntering up to him, you placed your hands on his shoulders reassuringly. _

_ “Baby, you know it wasn’t like that,” you reiterated, rubbing his bare shoulders and peeking up at him through your lashes. _

_ Steve did nothing but stare down at you before sucking his teeth and averting his eyes to the ground. _

_ “Well, I’m sure that he didn’t know that… considering how much you were throwing yourself at him.” _

_ You jerked your head back, surprised.  _

_ “Stevie, c’mon now-” _

_ “No, Y/N. We’ve been married for a month and you’re already trying to  _ **_fuck_ ** _ ,” he spat the word, “some other guy. It’s disgusting and embarrassing. If you wanna fuck him so bad, then go. I’m not gonna stop you.” _

_ This made you cry. _

_ Your vision became blurry and you let go of him, taking a step back. He scoffed. _

_ “Pathetic.” _

_ Your sadness dissipated and fury replaced it. The speed with which your tears dried was truly remarkable, and you jabbed your index finger at Steve’s chest with narrowed eyes. _

_ “You know what, Steve,” you sneered, “you can go and shove  _ **_all_ ** _ that misplaced self-righteousness and disrespect  _ **_right_ ** _ up your star-spangled ass because if you thought-” _

_ You got cut off by your head whipping to the side, the air effectively knocked out of you. You gasped for air as your mind tried to process just what happened. Looking back up at your husband with his hand raised and a stern look in his eyes, you finally pieced the puzzle together. _

_ A sob shook you, and you said nothing. Grabbing your shoes and your phone, you hightailed it out of the villa, running to where ever was far enough away from your husband. You could hear him shouting your name from behind you, voice loud and commanding but also  _ **_regretful_ ** _. _

Eventually, he found you on the beach, huddled behind a massive rock and on the phone with Tony. His eyes were red, as were his nose and cheeks, and it hit you that he had been crying too. He spent the entire night and the next  _ week  _ apologizing, and you had naively chalked it up to a lapse in judgment. After all, he was so apologetic and he wouldn’t have had to do it if you didn’t flirt with that waiter…

...Right?

That was wishful thinking. Reality hit you like a smack in the face -  _ no pun intended  _ \- and he was more volatile than ever. He lost his temper often and  _ quick. _ You constantly felt like you were treading on glass with Captain America,  _ Captain motherfucking America _ . Supposedly an American hero, but he was the subject of some of your darkest nightmares.

\---

But he had never taken you like this before. You scream, kicking and flailing your legs desperately, but he places a large hand over your mouth. You feel helpless, and you can’t help the tears that fall from your eyes.

“Baby,” he coos. “How pretty. Are these all for me?”

His thumbs trace the tear tracks down your cheek and he grinds his dick down into your core, making you scream again. Shushing you, his thick fingers trail down your torso and stroke at your slit. Your eyes dart around looking for something -  _ anything _ \- that can help you get him off of you. But there’s nothing. 

“Now, darling,” Steve’s voice is soft, “are you going to be a good girl for me and take Daddy’s big cock? Hmm? Or are we gonna do this the hard way?”

His fingers shift to your clit and speed up, and you can’t control the moan that escapes from your mouth. Your soul floods with betrayal. He uses the visceral attraction that you have to him against you in the most sinister of ways and it makes you  _ sick _ . But in retaliation to his taunting, you try to kick him off of you, but he’s got your body pinned firmly into the mattress.

Almost like a disappointed teacher, he tuts at you, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. Your eyes narrow, making more tears spill over to your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, “how many times have I told you that I don’t like hurting you? You bring it upon yourself - all this disobedience and retaliation when you could just be the good little doll I  _ know  _ you can be and listen to your Daddy.”

Removing his fingers from your pussy, he threateningly holds them up in front of your face, a smirk painting his lips. To your horror, they shine in the moonlight, slick with your arousal. 

_ Oh my God. _

“And as much as you can pretend that you don’t like it when Daddy takes you like this,” he drops his voice to a whisper as leans a hair-breadth away from your face, “Daddy knows how much you  _ love it _ .”

In less than a second, he’s removed his hand from your mouth and  _ shoved  _ his fingers inside, making you taste yourself. He starts to rut into your core, fast and unrelenting while licking the tears on your cheeks.

“And you know why you like it so much?” his rapid movements have you choking on the fingers that have been stuffed in your mouth. “Hmm, baby? I know why. And I know  _ you  _ know why. It’s because...” his fingers withdraw from your mouth and you heave breathlessly, trying to reassemble your thoughts. His spit-covered hand wraps tightly around your throat and all the while, his erection poking at your heat. “...you’re Daddy’s little slut, aren’t you baby?”

Adamantly, you shake your head and open your mouth to scream, but he swallows anything that you were going to say with a bruising kiss. His upper body still crushes you to the mattress, and he moves his hands down to unbuckle his belt and push down his pants, throwing them somewhere on the floor. The clink of the belt makes your eyes go wide, and your hands come up to push at his chest.

Steve sits up but straddles you, keeping your body still in a vice grip between his thick thighs. Quickly, he whips off his shirt and tugs his boxers past his cock, and your eyes can’t help but follow the movement that it makes when it springs free and bobs in the air. It looks  _ angry _ . It’s big and red and swollen and you’re  _ terrified. _

“You like the look of Daddy’s cock, don’t you, baby? Want it to fill you up?”

Your brief reverie is broken by Steve’s words and panic fills through you all over again. You come to the realization that maybe violence won’t work - because you definitely  _ cannot  _ overpower Steve - and try begging instead.

“Please, Steve,” your voice is weak and he only raises his eyebrows while continuing to stroke his cock. “It doesn’t have to be like this. W-we can - we can try tomorrow if you want,  _ please _ ,” you made a mental note to pick up some Plan B, “not like this.”

In the brief silence, you think that you’ve won for a moment, and the tight grip on your heart loosens slightly. But then he grins, and you know that your husband -  _ husband  _ \- is going to do what he wants. 

“Too late for that, my love,” his hand strokes your cheek, and then it rucks your sweatshirt up to pinch your nipple. “You’re gonna take what your Daddy gives you.”

And with that, he spreads your legs and leans down on his elbows so that your noses touch. One swift stroke and he’s in. You don’t think that you’ll ever adjust to how  _ massive  _ he truly is, but the white-hot pain that shoots through you blinds you. Though you’re wet, you need far more preparation to be able to comfortably take Steve.

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours and closing his eyes. “So fucking tight, babygirl. Just for me, just for your Daddy.”

Silent sobs make you convulse underneath him, but he cares little for his thrusts are rapid and deep.

You lie there, much like a ragdoll, limbs jerking while Captain America hovers above you and whispers, “Gonna look so good, full of my seed, baby -  _ fuck _ …”

The thought of it makes you shudder, and the sadness deep within you only blooms. He reaches in between the two of you to toy with your clit, and you close your eyes in shame at the pleasure that races through you.

“...Gonna fuck you so full, babygirl. Gonna take all of Daddy’s cum again and again,” Steve breathes, mouth hovering over yours. He leans down to kiss you, mouth moving in earnest against yours. But you can’t summon the strength nor the willpower to reciprocate.

“...Everyone will know that you’re mine, belly stretched with my  _ fucking kids _ \- oh, fuck, babygirl, you’re gonna make your Daddy come.”

You just want it to be over, but your orgasm creeps up on you like a thief in the night and all of a sudden, you find that you’re almost over the edge. Upon hearing Steve’s words, you subtly clench around him and he chuckles. You hear oddly feminine moaning in tandem with Steve’s -  _ is that you? _

“That’s right, baby, you’re gonna come right with Daddy. I’m gonna fill up this pretty little pussy, baby, you want that? Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to fill you up nice and good.”

“Fill me up, Daddy,  _ please _ -”

The words leave your mouth before you even think about it, as you desperately chase your release. You’re rewarded with an extra deep thrust right into your cervix. You yelp at the sensation and Steve’s hand that’s rubbing at your clit becomes frenzied, as do his thrusts.

“Such a good girl. Come for me, sweet girl, and I’ll fill you up like you want me to. Lemme feel that pretty little pussy clench around my cock-”

Your body convulses and you moan -  _ loud.  _ Tears spring to your eyes, though this time, you can’t decide whether or not they’re from the overwhelming ecstasy of your orgasm or the fact that your core is in intense pain from the brutal treatment it’s receiving. Your moment of pleasure is interrupted by  _ sheer horror _ as Steve whispers a quiet  _ ‘fuck’ _ into your ear. The feeling of hot liquid shooting straight into you causes you to start shaking. 

Steve kisses your cheek fondly as he heaves on top of you, trying to catch his breath while you disintegrate beneath him. You stay like this for minutes, hearing him whisper praises and sweet nothings into your ear, as he strokes your sides lovingly.

But this isn’t  _ love _ . This is far from it. This is  _ possession and obsession and violation. _

“You did so good, my sweet baby,” he says to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He peels himself off of you, tucking your trembling form under the sheets of the bed in an oddly domestic fashion. He kisses you once more and moves to the door, opening it and heading out.

But before he crosses the threshold, he looks back at you, the moonlight streaming in from the windows illuminating his features. 

“We try again tomorrow.”

  
  
  



	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader wakes up to the aftermath of her night with steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy! i'm back with another chapter for you guys :)
> 
> i won't say too much, but thank you for all the feedback! it really makes my week <3
> 
> anyways, any feedback is always welcome and appreciated! enjoy!

Upon waking up that morning, your limbs feel like they weigh twice what they normally do. Sitting up groggily, you rub at your eyes, stretching out your arms above your head. There’s a slight smile on your face, your eyes slightly swollen from your deep sleep. You know that smile. It’s the same smile that you get from post-orgasmic bliss, the smile you wear when Steve has _really_ put in the work to make you feel incredible. Your head turns, stretching out the muscles in your neck before you sigh contentedly. Your eyes scan your surroundings and your brow furrows because you’re not in your room. You’re in the guest room. The beginnings of a headache start to pierce the sides of your head, and you use the index and middle fingers from both of your hands to rub at your temples, trying to remember _why_ you’re in here. And _where’s Steve?_

With a frown on your face, your bare feet hit the plush carpet and you softly pad over to the en-suite bathroom. You turn on the lights and your breath escapes your body.

You look _terrible._

Turns out it isn’t just your eyes that are puffy. One side of your face is swollen quite badly from where Steve struck you the night before, the bruising not much better, and your lips are chapped. Your hair is messy from him digging his nails into your scalp and your eyes are bloodshot. There are so many hickeys on your neck in such close proximity that they’ve all seemingly blended together, the huge patches of darker skin stretching past your neck and down your chest. Your eyes widen in concern as you lift up your chin, the bruising there marring your skin too. Your nakedness only reveals to you the true extent of how abused your body looks and feels.

Your nipples _hurt_ and your hand comes up to brush a hand over them, wincing when your fingertips come into contact with the broken skin. You inhale shakily when the slight bruising at your hips becomes apparent to you, turning around to examine the damage done on the back. The skin on your ass looks raw, Steve’s large hands punishing and unrelenting. You suddenly become hyperaware of the stickiness between your thighs. You choke back tears, looking down at your most sensitive area. It’s messy and covered in Steve’s cum. You do actually choke then, hand coming up to cover your mouth. Your wrists have suffered the same fate as the rest of your body, and your hands shake uncontrollably. 

_Now_ you remember what happened last night.

Deciding that they can no longer support your weight under these stressful circumstances, your knees give out underneath you and you bury your face into your hands, not without sharp pangs of pain assaulting your body with every movement.

You’re ashamed. You can’t bear to look at yourself anymore, disappointed with the person staring back at you. This isn’t you. Not this broken woman being _used_ by her husband for his own selfish needs. You’re better than this and you know it. You deserve more than the everyday violence and mood swings that this man gives you. When you move to curl your legs underneath you, your heart stops momentarily and your sobbing increases. The sheer amount of cum on your body tells you that Steve must not have stopped in his inexorable task to breed you, even while you were sleeping. The thought makes you so violently sick that bile actually comes up your throat and you have to quickly crawl over to the toilet, dry heaving until your throat is raw. You sit with your back against the wall after washing your mouth out at the sink, wiping the tears off of your face.

This isn’t him. Not your Stevie. He’s so much better than this, so much more than his actions. As much as you want to hate him for what he’s done to you, what he _continues_ to do to you, you can’t bring yourself to. 

Because you _love him_.

And you know that by now, your loud crying should have drawn him to your bathroom - what with his _super-soldier hearing_ \- and as soon as you realize this, a knock comes at the door to the bathroom. You scoff at this - so _now_ he wants to respect _boundaries_ and your _privacy_. Ironic.

Tears still run out of your eyes and silent sobs still wrack your chest, but you quickly wipe your tears and try to regulate your breathing. _If he sees you crying, it’ll just encourage him._ Or maybe it won’t. You still hold some semblance of hope that a part of him is the same man you married. _Maybe I can change him._

“Baby?” a quiet voice - unmistakably Steve’s - comes from the other side, along with another knock. “Can I come in?”

The door isn’t locked, so your stomach fills with excited butterflies. _He’s really trying to be nice,_ you think, biting at your thumbnail in contemplation. Making a decision, you stand up slowly and walk over to the door. When you turn the handle, the door is barely open before you’re scooped up into Steve’s huge arms.

“Oh no, _darling_ ,” he breathes, squeezing you tight. You whimper in pain, every part of your body aching at the same time. Hearing that, he quickly lets you go and assesses you, while you do the same to him.

He’s wearing a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and in any regular circumstance, you’d admire the freshness of his appearance. His hair is wet and face freshly shaved, and some part of you longs to run your fingertips over the bare skin of his jawline. But you refrain, finally meeting his eyes. 

You’re immediately taken aback by the amount of emotion within them. Concern, remorse, sadness, and _love_ all wrapped up in the two cerulean eyes that hold your whole world within them.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he whispers after his eyes flit all over your extensive injuries. You don’t realize until he reaches out to grab one of your hands that you’re shaking profusely. “I’m so sorry.”

Those three words for you in your current emotional state are enough for your body to slacken, almost falling forward. His hands tuck themselves underneath your armpits - like a _baby_ , you think absent-mindedly - and he wraps your legs around his waist. You’re really just dead weight at this point, but he carries you as if you weigh as much as a feather. After walking you through the hallways, he sets you down on the bed in your shared master bedroom. He moves to the dresser to snatch a sweater for you to wear, and before you know it, he’s pulled it over your head and you’re engulfed in the scent of Steve. 

You can’t decide whether or not it makes you want to snuggle closer into it or be sick.

He picks you up in the same manner as before, walking you over to your favorite spot on the sectional in your living room. The light that streams through the sizeable windows and the skylight above has you briefly wondering about the time. You turn to the mantel, seeing that it’s just turned noon, meaning that you’ve slept for approximately twelve hours straight.

You and your husband sit in silence for a minute, and his fingers come up to twirl at the rings on your left hand, a nervous habit of his. Looking down at your body, you ask yourself whether the black sweater that he put you in is to ease his conscience or yours, concealing the harm he inflicted on you last night. When he eventually turns his eyes heavenwards, his long eyelashes fan against his cheekbones rapidly and you recognize this as a sign of his trying to fight tears.

“Y/N,” he chokes out, making eye contact with you. You give him a small, tight-lipped smile, waiting for him to continue. “I can’t even _begin_ to describe to you how fucking _sorry_ I am. Looking at you- _God,_ I hate myself. And I love you, more than life itself. You’ve done everything right, _everything_ , and I can’t even do _one_ good thing for you. I’ve hurt you, _so bad_ . I hate seeing you upset; I can’t live with myself. And all of this,” he gestures to your whole body, “is my fault.” Biting his lower lip, he averts his eyes and clears his throat. “I’m a failure of a husband and I don’t deserve you, not in the slightest. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be better for you, and for me, and for whatever or whoever else comes in the future. I _love you_.”

He gently takes your face in his hands, eyes darting over your face and you can see the _genuine, pure_ , and _unadulterated sincerity_ in his actions and words. For the first time in a long time, you see _Stevie_ again. His eyes shut and his forehead presses to yours, breathing deeply as if waging an internal war with himself. You know that it’s your turn to speak, and this time you give in to your urge. Your hand comes up to trail against his sharp jawline, and his eyes fly open at the contact. His lips part in surprise, but you shush him before he can get a word out.

“Hey,” you speak, cringing at how raspy and croaky your voice sounds after spending a considerable amount of time crying this morning. “I’m not just gonna up and leave you - you know how much I love you. But I don’t feel good, Steve. I feel like I’m constantly walking on eggshells around you. I don’t know when we got like this,” taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself for the words you’re about to say next, “I told you yesterday how I felt about the baby, and you still did what you did despite that. You disregarded my feelings and truly Steve, I’ve never felt so _used_ in my life. We could’ve talked about it some more, worked through it all, but you chose violence-”

Steve silences any further words with a hard kiss pressed to your lips. Instinctively, your hands come up to hold his cheeks, and you’re surprised when you feel how wet they are.

“Never again, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, pecking them one more time. “I’ll change, _I will_ , and this’ll never have to happen again.”

There’s an air of finality in his tone, and the wave of exhaustion that’s settled deep in your bones tells you to let it go. He embraces you tightly, seeming to have forgotten about your injuries.

Over his shoulder, your eyes fall on the unfinished cookies from the day before and your heart beats faster.

“I’m so glad you’ve forgiven me, pretty girl.”

Repressed memories from over the years hit you suddenly, making your eyes grow wide. 

Your stomach drops when you realize that this isn’t the first time he’s apologized like this, and you have a sinking feeling that it won’t be the last.

  
  



	4. four, knock at the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader decides to seek help but finds out that luck is not on her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after a month? a whole month??! who is she??????!!!!
> 
> i'm sorry this has taken so so long, but it's a little extra long because i feel bad :(
> 
> as always, any feedback is welcome and appreciated! hope you like this one! <3

You’re hiding.

There’s no roundabout way to say it, no other way to adequately describe what you’re doing crouched in the corner of your pantry with shaky hands and even shakier breaths.

With glassy eyes, you gaze at the names of the cereal stacked above you, trying your best to ignore the shouts of your name and the slow, heavy footsteps that seem to ring in your ears and echo within the chasm of your brain.

You’re sure that he can hear your breathing by now - he _must_ be able to. But he enjoys playing this little cat-and-mouse game with you. He wants to elicit that terror deep inside you, fear that runs deep enough for you to completely submit to him.

“Y/N,” he draws out the last syllable of your name, and you stop staring at the food inside the pantry and close your eyes. Quickly, you send up several prayers that he won’t catch you, although you know that they’re somewhat fruitless. His voice is right outside, telling you that it’s only a matter of a few seconds before he opens the door.

“Hmmm,” he wanders away from the pantry towards the sink. “Is she… in here?”

You can hear him violently fling open the cupboard door that’s below the sink, and he chuckles when he finds nothing but cleaning products.

“Not in here,” he sounds falsely resigned, tutting quietly as he walks back towards the pantry. He goes through the same motions about three more times with three different cupboards before his deliberate footfalls stop right before the entrance to the pantry. Your heartbeat has been steadily mounting this whole time, and this is the moment when it threatens to jump out of your chest. 

Steve rocks back on his heels, and you can tell because of the rhythmic rise and fall of his feet. He hums contemplatively, and you can almost see the way that his face is scrunched up in thought.

“Now, Y/N,” his voice has turned from sickly sweet to menacing within seconds. “I’m gonna give you another opportunity to come outta there before I ‘come get you myself. We’ve been together ‘far too long for you to keep playing these childish games.”

Silence rings through the house as you quickly consider your options. You can come out - be _reasonable_ \- and hope that he doesn’t make you face many of the dire consequences. Or you could stay inside and wait for him to grab you, definitely the dicier choice. But at least with that, you’d have stood your ground and kept your dignity.

Right?

“I’m gonna count to three, darling,” he warns, and you can visualize the way that he’s put his hands on his hips as his voice changes to _captain mode_.

“1…”

Your mind whirls in a panic, and your heart starts pounding even faster. You can feel it crawl up your throat and sound in your ears. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth and press your palms together to relieve some of the tension that buzzes through your body. A wave of nausea hits you like a speeding four-by-four, and suddenly your train of thought changes course.

_When was the last time I had my period?_

“2… Baby, don’t make me hurt you. I really don’t want to but you’re gonna make me have to.”

Your stomach falls through the floor because you _can’t remember._ You wrack your brain incessantly for a date, even just a general spot on the timeline of your life. But the fact that you can’t recall it almost immediately means that it must’ve been a long time. Tears spring to your eyes, ones that you can’t control for the life of you, and you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your incoming sobs.

_There’s no way I’m pregnant. I’ve been so careful with taking my-_

You don’t get to finish your thought because, at that moment, the _locked_ door to the pantry threatens to come off of its hinges. The silhouette of your husband in the backlit doorway of your pantry makes you go dizzy with fear. 

Your shaking intensifies. 

His eyes lock onto your trembling body and a small smile spreads across his face. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he takes sure, measured steps that cross the short distance from the door to the corner that you’ve tucked yourself away in. He tuts again and you can’t help but scoff internally: he sounds like a disappointed parent. 

But your slight amusement fades alarmingly fast when he stops directly in front of you, eyes blazing and mouth set in a hard line. The sliver of light that has crept through the ajar door illuminates only half of his face, and without even looking him in the eyes, you can feel bright, cerulean blue boring into your soul. 

“Baby,” he sighs with a shake of his head, crossing his arms over his wide chest. Your eyes follow his movements almost obsessively, for you don’t want to find yourself unprepared for any sudden action that he may take against you. “I’m so disappointed in you.”

Before you can even open your mouth to respond, he grips your upper arm tightly and drags you out of the pantry. You scream involuntarily, eyes wide and breathing labored.

“You knew what would happen if you stayed in there,” he continues pulling you across the floor towards your living room. “Yet you did it anyway. Disobeying my orders, _just_ to be a little fucking brat.”

Inside your head, you roll your eyes at that because, in reality, it’s not even your fault.

\-- 

_You had called Tony a few days prior because you had decided that you couldn’t take it anymore. Your husband was abusive and insufferable and it had taken all of your bruises from that painful night to fade before you realized that it won’t stop until you reach out for some help. Not that you hadn’t tried before, but Steve had thwarted all of your previous efforts._

_“Tony?”_

_“Hi, honey baby,” he replies, sounding relieved, and you can hear the whirring of some unidentifiable machinery in the back. You were curled into a ball under the covers in the bed in you and Steve’s bedroom, phone pressed to your ear. Your sides were still a little tender, but for the most part, you were back to looking like yourself again. Steve hadn’t let you out of the house for the past two weeks so that nobody would see you in your state and “ask questions that aren’t any of their business”. But he was on day one of a three-day trip to Los Angeles on behalf of the Make-A-Wish Foundation when you decidedly picked up your phone and called your best friend. “Haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks. I was wondering whether or not Capsicle was keeping you hostage. Are you feeling any better?”_

_Your eyes drifted over to the piles of flowers and ‘Get Well Soon!’ cards on your dresser. Under the guise of you having some extremely contagious form of pneumonia, Steve kept the team from venturing what felt like within a mile radius of your house. The minute that Tony caught wind of the news, he was adamant that he’d just wear a face mask and come keep you company. He also had Dr. Cho on hand to help, but Steve vehemently refused both offers. And since he’s the only one that can’t get sick, the team believed him easily enough when he told them that he would be the only one safe around you. Even phone calls to the team were few and far between, but he let you call Tony to keep up appearances._

_“Yeah, I’m much better now,” you lied compulsively before remembering what your phone call was meant to be about. You shook your head and backtracked. “Actually, Tony, I’m not better.”_

_The whirring stops abruptly and you can hear Tony put his tools down to move to a quieter, more private location._

_“What’s going on, honey bunny? You haven’t seemed like yourself lately, and I didn’t wanna say anything just in case. I assumed you would tell me when you were ready, but it’s been over 6 months, and Rhodey and I haven’t heard anything from you. We don’t wanna pry, but we’re getting really concerned.”_

_The seriousness in his voice made you do a double-take, as Tony isn’t normally one to take anything seriously. But you know by now that when it comes to you and Jeanette, Rhodey’s sister, they don’t mess around. Despite this, the thought of him caring so much about you made you burst into tears._

_There’s silence as your sobs echo over the line until the only thing that Tony said before he hung up is:_

_“I’ll be right over.”_

_\--_

_When Tony arrived, he let himself into your house with the key that he made himself. Finding his way to your bedroom, he found you wrapped up in bed with a puffy face and glassy eyes. Wordlessly, he dropped the bags that he was carrying on the floor and crawled in next to you. He wound his arms around you and pressed you into his chest. You lay like this for about half an hour before you could form a coherent sentence._

_When Tony moved to pull his arms out from underneath you so that he could comfortingly rub your back instead, he brushed the bruise on your side and you automatically winced. With furrowed brows, he sought your eyes for permission to lift up your shirt and examine the violently bruised skin._

_“What happened, Y/N? Because last time I checked, bruises aren’t a side effect of pneumonia.”_

_You knew that he wasn’t kidding around because you couldn’t remember the last time that your name actually came out of his mouth instead of some stupid nickname. Taking a deep breath, you stared him dead in the eye._

_“It was Steve. I wasn’t sick. I didn’t have fucking pneumonia. He’s been keeping me inside because he doesn’t want anyone to see me like this. It was worse. There were more. He touched me, Tony, and I said no. I said no. He ra-”_

_The word got caught in your throat and you averted your eyes in shame, embarrassed that you’ve let this happen to you for so long. You thought about why you were even telling Tony this. Maybe it was your fault. Would he ridicule you?_

_“How long?”_

_“It happened on the honeymoon for the first time.”_

_“Is that when you called me crying? You told me nothing was wrong…”_

_“...because Steve told me to. When he found me on the beach, he told me that there was no point in telling you if it wasn’t going to happen again and that I would look childish and immature.”_

_He exhaled a deep breath and raised his eyes to the ceiling, and you were surprised to find that his eyes were filled with tears._

_“I should’ve known… I should’ve seen the signs. Fuck, they were all there and I ignored every single one of them.” He looked at you then. “Y/N, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am that you’ve had to go through this. I’m angry and upset and mortified but I admire your strength in this horrible situation. You’ve pushed through in the way that you know how, but you won’t have to do that any longer. I’ll call Rhodey and we’ll get you out of here-”_

_Your lip trembled and your thought process came to a standstill._

_“But I love him, Tones, that’s the thing,” you cried, watching his eyes widen in shock. “I love him so much and I don’t know why. I don’t want to leave him… I’m damaged goods, who else is gonna want me? I just want him to change.”_

_This stunned Tony into complete silence._

_“Are you kidding me?” he deadpanned. “Y/N, what’s going on here isn’t love. This is possession. It’s degrading and abusive and you shouldn’t have to put up with this. Nobody should. And there are plenty of other people who will want you. You’re not damaged goods, not even close. Hey, I’m damaged goods and Pepper still loves me. I love you, Rhodey loves you, Buck loves you, Nat, Bruce, Wanda, hell Vision loves you too and I don’t even think he can feel emotions like that. You are loved. And while you may want him to change, you can’t feel obligated to stick around and try to do it for him. It’s gotta be personal growth, babe, and you can’t be here while he’s working through that. It’s not safe, at all. And I couldn’t live with myself knowing that you’re still here, living a miserable life day-in and day-out. I already can’t sleep - don’t make it harder for me, sweetie.”_

_You barked out a quick laugh and buried your face in his chest. “Maybe I’ll wait it out. Give it some time…”_

_Tony scoffed and grabbed your chin to make you look at him. “I’m not gonna let you stay here a second longer.”_

_“Anthony-"_

_You exhaled before meeting his gaze with confidence. He stared you down and you eventually acquiesced._ _“Okay. Okay.”_

_He grinned at you, clapping his hands together happily. You laughed, your heart feeling lighter than it had in months. His eyes lit up at your smile and he hugged you tightly._

_“We can look into getting him some help,” he suggested reluctantly, rubbing your back. “I think that you guys were good for each other once. Whatever changed, we can get to the bottom of it with professional help. He didn’t marry you for you to become his therapist or personal punching bag. You’re supposed to be his wife.”_

_You nodded in agreement and you lay in silence for a few minutes before Tony’s phone rang. Sighing, he answered. It was Pepper. The whole team was needed in Washington D.C for two days. He rolled his eyes and accepted quickly before hanging up._

_He climbed out of bed, straightened his clothes, and gestured vaguely to the pile of bags at the door. “All that’s food and some candles. Thought you could use some ‘me time’. Go watch some Netflix or something. Rhodey and I’ll be back in a few days to pack up your stuff.”_

_You opened your mouth to voice your concerns but he interrupted you._

_“And yes, we’ll be back before Steve. Until then, stay healthy, lovebug. I’ll lock up on my way out”_

_He bent over to kiss the crown of your head before leaving._

_A warm feeling of satisfaction and security filled your chest, and you basked in it. It was a rare feeling, and you thought to hold onto it. Hopefully, once you left, you would have the time and space to recover that feeling._

\--

_Unfortunately, the team wasn’t back before Steve was. But he still doesn’t know that you’ve spoken to Tony. His real problem is with what he found on your dresser when he came back a night early._

_Tony had sent two pills in a bottle with the note:_

_Just in case, babycakes x_

_Tones_

_They were abortion pills and you’d known that when you read the bottle. The note made love swell within you because of his thoughtfulness. But carelessly and under the impression that Steve wouldn’t be home until the night after, you left it out in the open. And with a quick Google search, he was able to discover exactly what Tony had sent._

_To say he was enraged was an understatement._

_You’d woken up that morning and failed to spot that the pills were missing from their place on top of your chest of drawers. You had padded into the kitchen sleepily, rubbing at your eyes and yawning. Opening the pantry to see what you could eat for breakfast, your name being yelled by an unmistakable voice that could belong to none other but your spouse._

\-- 

And this is where you find yourself, sprawled out on the huge fluffy rug tucked beneath your couches in your living room. Steve stands over you villainously and produces the pill bottle from his pocket. Your eyes double in size, and he shakes his head down at you condescendingly.

“Darling girl,” he whispers your term of endearment lovingly, a stark and direct contrast to his demeanor. “You know what these are. It’s like you don’t even love me, love the beautiful family that we could have. But instead, you go directly against my wishes. You go behind my back and ask Tony to get these for you. Not only does it make me feel disrespected, but it hurts my feelings.”

He begins to circle you - predator meeting prey. 

“And you know all too well what happens when you disobey Daddy, hmm, babygirl?”

You gulp loudly, mouth going dry at the thought.

His face, somehow, darkens even further and you’re suddenly reminded of the shark from Finding Nemo.

“You’re in for a world of hurt, baby.”


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader makes a decision that leaves her with some dire consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god, i hate myself lmao i've been so busy recently you guys!! i'm super sorry about the wait - i've had exams and about a million different essays to write, so i wasn't all that inspired to continue. but i'm back with kind of a longer chapter this time as compensation. hopefully, i can update more frequently in the next few months.
> 
> anyways, again, i'm sorry and as per, any feedback is always welcome and appreciated! <3
> 
> steve gets kinda crazy in this one y'all, quick warning ;)

It’s as if you’ve been possessed by the spirit of willpower - _too little too late,_ you think - because before Steve can even make a move towards you, you scramble to your feet much like a newborn baby giraffe. Making a beeline for the front door that you’re betting is open, you know that you have very little time to think this through because Steve has and always will be exponentially faster than you are. 

Damn supersoldier serum.

Your bare feet slip and slide all over the hardwood flooring, and you turn corners so quickly that you think that you’re going to break an ankle. The light grey door that leads to the outside is now directly in front of you, framed by two huge windows on either side. You don’t even know where you’re going to go, but you know that it’s got to be as far away from your husband as humanly possible. You should’ve just asked Tony to take you to Washington with the rest of the team when they were going; it would’ve saved you from this entire situation.

“Y/N…” Steve’s warning voice sounds from behind you which inspires you to keep moving towards your goal.

As you approach the front door twice your size, you send up a quick prayer that when Steve came back from California, he left it unlocked like he often did: your neighborhood was extremely safe and you had very few neighbors, something that Steve made sure of before you moved in, so he wasn’t all that concerned about locking the door during the day. While that was part of it, it was also because many of the Avengers were extremely prone to popping by unless Steve specifically warned them away. As your hand pushes down on the handle, you find that it gives way and you breathe a sigh of relief, throwing the door open only to have the light from the sun temporarily blind you.

This was a luxury you could not afford. The few seconds that the sun delayed you had Steve hot on your heels. He wasn’t running, and that’s what somehow made it scarier. It was as if he knew, whether he was running or not, he could and would always catch up to you. You leap out the front door, flying forwards and taking off down the road. You can hear blood rush through your ears and honestly, you have no game plan, no idea where you’re going, and a pretty good feeling that Steve will catch up to you in the next few minutes.

_Realistically,_ you think while your bare soles slap against the warm asphalt of the road, _I could’ve stayed and have been in far less trouble than I’ll be in now that I’ve run away._ But then you remember that you’re doing this for yourself and that you should’ve tried to run like this ages ago.

Once you’re far away enough from the house, you slow down and look back only to see Steve’s figure outside, just standing there. Your legs stop moving completely, and your chest hurts from how quickly you’ve exerted all of your energy. The breaths that come out of your chest are ragged and pained, but that’s not what’s important now that you see your husband with his hands in his pockets watching you. 

_Is he expecting me to come back?_

You make the decisive choice to turn around and keep running, albeit slightly slower this time. You’re only a few miles out from the Compound so you decide that that’s where you’ll head, bracing yourself for a long journey there. You’re only wearing one of Steve’s old sweaters and shorts - no phone, no watch, no socks, no _shoes,_ nothing.

_Holy shit, my neighbors must think I’m crazy._

You find that you don’t really give a fuck and you eventually slow to a walk about 10 minutes after you leave your neighborhood. You chew on your thumbnail nervously because you know that it’s entirely possible that Steve will just come looking for you at the Compound, and you’re not at all ready to face his wrath. And suddenly you’re completely halted in your tracks by the realization that you might still be _pregnant_. 

You should’ve just taken the pills as soon as you’d gotten them and destroyed the evidence. Now instead you’re in the middle of virtually nowhere with only your memory as a compass to a sanctuary, potentially pregnant and extremely stressed. 

This train of thought and your overwhelming fatigue makes you retch and walk towards the nearest bush, violently dry heaving which brings tears to your eyes. So you fall to the ground, exhausted in more ways than one and sob, bringing your knees up to wrap your arms around them and smothering your face into your thighs. You sit like this for a while, not really being able to keep track of the time that’s passing because you’re so caught up. 

When did this become your life? Running away from the man that you love who is _supposed_ to love you back, but you end up questioning that notion more often than not. This isn’t the married life that you imagined as a child, not the peace and happiness that you’d come to desire so desperately. Shit, this wasn’t even the married life that you’d imagined 5 years ago when you had a more solid grasp on the real world. You knew that it would come with its own trials and tribulations as any relationship does, but you were wholly unprepared for this harsh reality.

You’re shaken out of your reverie by the sound of a car engine and you almost get whiplash from the speed with which your head snaps up. You can feel your heart sink through the floor when you recognize the car as the one that was parked in your driveway not even an hour ago when you left your house. Subconsciously, you knew it would end this way and maybe, you think, that’s why you gave up. He would always come back to find you.

The car pulls up right in front of you and the engine cuts, and you follow Steve’s every movement as he steps outside and slams the door shut. 

He’s the perfect picture of peace, casually strolling towards you in his Ray-Bans and a hand in his pocket. You avert your eyes to the ground in front of you, ashamed, and Steve’s Nikes soon become the only thing that you can see. Reluctantly, your eyes travel up his body until they reach his eyes, and the darkest blue that you’ve ever seen is staring back at you. He’s taken his sunglasses off and has them dangling on the fingertips of the hand that isn’t in his pocket.

He doesn’t say anything and you wince, waiting for him to break the silence. He doesn’t drop the eye contact when he begins to speak.

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to pick your sorry ass up and drag it into the car,” he begins slowly, his mouth almost caressing the insult, “before I do it myself. Do I make myself clear?”

All the fight that you had about half an hour ago drains out of your body, and you push yourself up and walk briskly towards the car. You lower your eyes as you pass Steve, but before you can fully walk past him, his hand leaves his pocket and comes up with lightning speed to clasp around your neck and squeeze, effectively cutting off all airflow and leaving you to claw at his hand fruitlessly. The muscles in his arm threaten to escape the confines of his t-shirt and you look down to see his knuckles whitening.

“Fucking brat,” he hisses, lifting you clean off your feet and bringing your face up to his, close enough that the tips of your noses touch. Tears flow what is seemingly endlessly out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks and jawline, landing on Steve’s hand on your neck. “I _said_ : do I make myself clear, you fucking bitch?”

You start to go lightheaded at the lack of oxygen, nodding as best as you can with the vice-like collar around your neck.

Steve scoffs and looks away, shaking his head and chuckling mirthlessly before he moves his face inches away from yours once again. “So you leave for half an hour and forget basic home training, hmm? You know how much I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ll remind you just this once. You speak when you’re motherfucking spoken to, you dumb slut. Do I make myself _fucking_ clear or must I spell it out for you too?”

You physically are losing all your ability to think coherently, let alone form coherent sentences, and Steve must recognize this because he loosens his grip on your neck just enough for you to be able to speak.

“Hmm? I’m listening,” Steve coaxes you to respond to him. You know that you shouldn’t even give him another opportunity to cut off your oxygen supply again, so you inhale deeply and hurriedly once before you choke out your answer with a raw throat.

“Yes, Daddy.”

At this, Steve, who still has you dangling in the air by your neck, doesn’t quite smile at this - it’s more of a sneer - but you can tell that it was the answer he was looking for. He tightens his grip once again and brings his lips to your ear, and you try your best to focus while your brain is going fuzzy again.

“That’s right, whore,” he whispers, his tongue running up the side of your face possessively which makes you tremble even more than you already are. “You’re lucky you’re not fucking dead right now, because I thought about fucking killing you when I saw you run out of that house. You should be thanking me every day for the rest of your pathetic little life that I let you live… this time.”

That last part made you flinch, your mind swimming as you continue to scratch desperately at his hand. He lets up again for a few seconds, allowing you to suck in a breath before clamping down once again.

“I can’t promise what I’ll do the next time. But from now on, when I move, you move. I’m not letting you out of my sight again for the rest of my life. I’ve been too nice so far, letting you roam around like some kind of wanton whore, thinking that I don’t own you in and outside of the bedroom. That ends today, hmm? You’re mine and the sooner that you can get that through that thick _fucking_ skull of yours the better-”

Steve must hear something approaching in the distance so he drops you carelessly and you collapse into a heap on the ground, sputtering and sobbing helplessly. He looks down at you with such distaste and you clutch your heart that’s threatening to leap out of your chest.

“Now get up and get in the fucking car,” he slides his sunglasses back onto his face casually and walks to the driver’s side, “or I’ll just throw you in.”

Your limbs feel as heavy as lead and are dead weight on your body, so when you shift upwards to try and stand up, you crumple into a heap of arms and legs. You can almost feel Steve roll his eyes before he makes quick strides towards you and you find yourself being lifted off the ground, your husband carrying you to the back seat of your car. Flinging the door open, he unceremoniously tosses you inside, shutting the door immediately after. The sound of the car engine is much louder now, and Steve slides into the front seat, starting the engine and speeding down the road on the way to back to your house.

\-- 

You must’ve dozed off on the five-minute drive back home, but you wake up to a slight breeze flowing on your face. Blinking with tired eyes, you look up to see Steve staring down at you through the open passenger’s seat door with a tense jaw and narrowed eyes.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls before turning on his heel and walking to the front door. You exhale slowly, peeling yourself off of the backseats and stepping carefully outside the car. You take your sweet time actually walking inside, mentally preparing yourself for the wrath that you’re about to endure. You hear the lock click behind you once you shut the car door and it makes you freeze, knowing that Steve can see and hear you but you can’t see nor hear him from your current position. 

When you finally make it in, Steve’s sitting on one of the couches in the living room, sipping on a glass of brown liquid that you can only assume is whiskey. Glancing at the clock momentarily, you raise your eyebrows at the fact that it’s only just past 12:30 in the afternoon. 

Walking forwards sheepishly, Steve’s eyes lock onto you and he swallows the rest of his drink, twirling the empty glass absent-mindedly in his large hands. The silence between the two of you is deafening, and you want so badly for him to speak. Instead, you decide to break the silence instead, opening your mouth to say something that you’re not exactly sure of. But before you can do so, Steve’s commanding voice rings out throughout the house and you are effectively silenced.

“Here. Now.”

To emphasize his demand, he points to the area at his feet. He looks deceivingly relaxed with his legs spread wide and his right arm resting against the back of the sofa. He still clutches the whiskey glass in his left hand.

You slowly pad over to where he wants you, maintaining the eye contact that he’s so insistent about most of the time, not wanting to push your luck any further. You stand right in front of him and although you _are_ wearing clothes, you’ve never felt so exposed as his eyes roam judgementally over you.

“Now,” he starts, thumb running around the rim of the glass. “I’ll make a deal with you, Y/N. You can tell me the truth when I ask you this question and avoid your punishment altogether… or you could lie and head downstairs. It’s truly up to you.”

You stop breathing at the sound of _downstairs._ There was a basement in this house that, when you originally bought it, you believed could be turned into some kind of studio or recreational space. Steve was completely on board with the idea, making you excited about all of the different things that you could use the space for. It wasn’t huge like most things in the rest of the house, but it had a lot of potential to be a really useful feature of the house.

You’d only been to the basement once.

Steve had done some work on it when you had stayed with Jeanette for a week at her house in California about six months ago.

_You’d made a minor slip-up by taking a taxi back from the airport instead of calling Steve, something that you thought could be a cute little surprise. Truly, you’d made more severe errors in the past but you were convinced that Steve was just waiting for you to mess up because he was itching to try out his new space. You’d screamed and cried while he carried you over his shoulder down the stairs to the basement that had been completely transformed. To get in, Steve had installed a biometrics scanner that only let him through, obviously with the help of Tony who had no idea what he was using it for, that unlocked a door that led to one fairly large room._

_It looked like an insane asylum._

_The walls and floor were padded white and there was an iron-wrought double bed tucked into the corner. A small sink was attached to the wall at the opposite end of the room. That was it. There was literally nothing else in the entire room._

_“Steve,” you had asked, “what is this?”_

_You’ll never forget the chilling glint in his eyes when he threw you on the bed, spun around on his heel, and left the room wordlessly._

_You were down there for only four days on that occasion, but it felt like it had been four years._

_He didn’t give you new clothes, there was no shower, no books, literally nothing to do. He only slid food into the room three times a day, if you could even call it that. It was always soup and a sandwich: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The first few days you had yelled hurled insults at the air and refused to eat any of the food that he brought you, but by the end of the second day, you had broken. Early into the experience, you had spied the two cameras in the corners of the room and realized that maybe if you’d shown Steve that you’d learned your lesson, he would let you go._

_So you begged. You begged until you went crazy, talking to yourself and banging your head off of the hard bedframe._

_You groveled for two days and you thought that he would leave you in there to die until he came inside, jogging to scoop up your shaking form and carry you back upstairs._

_He’d been apologetic for two weeks, treating you like a porcelain doll and showering you with all kinds of love and affection. The nightmares came and went, but they were consistent for the first week. You could see genuine guilt and remorse in his eyes, so when he promised you that he would get rid of what was in the basement, you believed him. That was foolish of you._

“Does that sound fair to you?” Steve asks you, making you blink at him.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He nods his head slowly, obviously pleased with your response. The look in his eyes changes to something softer and he reminds you of a kicked puppy dog. “Just be honest, baby. I never want to hurt you but what you’ve done today has been all your fault. You’re forcing my hand here.”

You nod, maybe starting to believe that he’s right in punishing you.

“Tony must’ve sent you those pills for a reason. This is all I want you to tell me because I think that I already know the answer. Are you pregnant, babygirl?”

Your breath catches and you blink heavenwards. You’re terrified of the basement and the memory alone drives you to tell him the truth.

“I don’t know,” you whimper. 

Steve’s nostrils flare and you can feel the anger radiating off of him in waves. He’s suspiciously still until he roars unintelligibly. The sound makes you jerk back in fear, but from your periphery you can see the whiskey glass whizz past your head, missing it by only an inch, and crash into the wall behind you. You look over your shoulder, seeing where it shattered, and your heart climbs up your throat. Turning your attention back to Steve, he’s biting the knuckle of his index finger in irritation. That is until he stands up and grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth.

“Stop _fucking_ lying!” he shouts. “I know you are, and I know you’re hiding it from me when all I wanted to do was care for you.”

“Steve, _please_ ,” you quickly speak up, “I’m not lying. I genuinely don’t know.”

The back of his hand meets your cheek, making your head whip to the side. He does it once more, delivering a clean backhand to your face that makes it sting painfully. Gripping your cheek in disbelief, you take a couple of steps away from the man in front of you, putting a hand up in front of you to placate him. You know that maybe speaking up at a time like this could get you into more trouble than keeping your mouth shut, but you try anyway. 

“Steve, baby, _I’m serious_. I have no idea if I am. I haven’t even taken a te-”

What silences you is a swift punch to the mouth provided by your loving husband, splitting your lip open and making you stagger backward. When your fingertips come up to feel your lip, they come back crimson red.

Finally looking up at your husband, he’s red-faced and seething, with his teeth clenched and hands fisted. It seems as if he’s not quite registering what’s happening because he steps towards you again but you quickly shuffle back. 

“Shut up! Shut the _fuck_ up,” he screams at you, making your bones nearly jump out of your skin. He reaches for your arm and drags you towards the door that you know leads to the basement. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ you think, eyes darting around desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation. The force with which he’s dragging you down the stairs almost causes you to fall flat on your face. 

When you make it down, Steve’s grumbling to himself all the while the door is scanning for his identification.

“...Can’t believe you’re making me do this…”

“...Little fucking brat, can’t just tell the damn truth for once in her life…”

The doors finally let Steve through to the door to _The Room_ and you start to plead with Steve.

“Please, Steve,” you start and he looks down at you coldly, “we can go find out together. I just wanted to wait for you. Please don’t do this. I love you.”

The way he regards you makes chills run down your spine, and he says nothing before flinging open the door and pushing you inside. This time, the room’s lights aren’t even on, so the only source of light is that from the door.

Your bloody hand stains the white cushioned floor.

Steve turns to leave, eyes roaming your bloody, swollen, tear-stained face before full-on belly laughing.

“You just can’t stop lying, can you?” he shakes his head. “You can come out when you’ve learned your lesson.”

The slamming of the door rings in your ears hours after he leaves. 


	6. six, pick up sticks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader's situation worsens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! this whole social distancing is giving me a criminally long amount of time to get some work done on this story, so here's another update for you :)
> 
> i won't say too much, but our reader is really going through it - she needs a hug or something y'all i can't :(
> 
> anyways, please stay inside and stay safe and try to keep positive in these otherwise depressing times! sending my love to all of you!
> 
> and as always, any feedback is welcome and appreciated! enjoy!

The stark whiteness of the whole room encompasses you. Your brain has stopped running at a mile a minute and has slowed down considerably to a crawl as opposed to a sprint. The air is heavy, and the sound of your own breathing echoes loudly in your ears. There is nothing else to drown it out.

You hear the door unlock as it does every few hours for you to use the bathroom that’s conveniently situated just outside, still not outside that big heavy door. There are cameras in there too. You don’t need to go.

You lay on your back on the bed, the hard mattress underneath you failing to provide any semblance of comfort to your aching heart and weary bones. You have no idea what time it is - how could you? It is impossible to know how much time you have passed in the cell, but you can hazard a guess that it has been at least four days since you were first brought downstairs.

You have a feeling because you have seen his shadow block the light that comes from underneath the door four times. You haven’t even tried to beg this time, even when you know he is there. You could be as apologetic as you’d like, but he won’t let you out until he deems that you are ready. He’d linger for minutes at a time, seemingly knowing that you are aware that he is there. But then he’d reluctantly turn on his heel and head back up the stairs. 

An involuntary laugh bubbles up in your chest before you clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes wide and darting around nervously. That’s before you realize that nobody else is in there with you. Your fingertips brush against your hollow cheeks and you pull your palm away from your mouth to gently trace the planes and outlines of your face. 

You’ve lost weight. 

He hasn’t been bringing you food at all this time, something that you stopped noticing pretty quickly. The knawing hunger that has resided deep in the pit of your stomach has turned to a dull ache that you’ve come to ignore. You swallow, feeling your throat dry from lack of use and then stare at the sink in the corner. Going to get water is too hard a feat. 

You don’t remember the last time you’d moved.

You nuzzle your face into the cold sheets of the bed, the material feeling so much harsher on your gaunt cheeks. A violent shiver runs through you, making you inhale sharply and grip the sheets a little tighter. The plush walls and flooring insulate the room slightly, making it a little warmer than if the walls were to be just bare concrete. But it is still freezing, making you crawl underneath the blanket and cocoon yourself within it. Something that you wouldn’t quite call sleep pulls you under, leaving you serene and peaceful which is an escape from the cold hell that you’re trapped in.

\--

You wake up with a jolt, your head pounding. Your eyes are drawn to the door where Steve’s shadow stands, watching and waiting. Your head drops back to the bed, your fingers coming up to trace over the bedframe. Carelessly, you let a sharp edge slash your wrist but you can’t bring yourself to even whimper in pain. Shrugging, your fingers continue on their path, watching the little rivulet of blood pour down your wrist. You can’t feel anything. 

\-- 

You don’t realize that you’ve fallen asleep until you have a dream that you’re falling, waking up out of breath and with a racing heart. The cut on your wrist hasn’t even stopped bleeding, staining the white sheets underneath you. You find that you don’t really care, blinking in the relative darkness and staring at the sink again, contemplating getting up to get a drink. But you soon come to the realization that it’s very possible that you may die down here - what would stop Steve from leaving you to die? 

_He loves me_ , a quiet voice in the back of your head protests, but you audibly snort at that notion, shaking your head and feeling your eyes droop. You’ve never been so tired in your life. 

\--

This time, you’re awoken by a strange sensation between your legs. At first, in your dazed state, you think that it’s Steve, coming to enact his revenge or something of the sort. But when you fully open your eyes, you’re still the only person in the room. As quickly as your body allows you, you move a hand between your legs to try and feel around what’s happening in the dark. 

Your hand comes back wet. 

You shift your hand slightly so that it catches the light coming from underneath the door, and it shines red. 

A small part of you knows what’s happening, but your brain hasn’t really registered it completely. A shriek tears its way out of your throat regardless, but nothing comes out. It’s air and wheezing and your eyes are streaming with tears, the first real display of emotion that you’ve shown in the past _however long_. And it doesn’t stop. You keep heaving dry sobs that aren’t being helped by the fact that your throat feels like sandpaper, and the blood keeps rushing and further tarnishing the bedsheets.

Your headache intensifies, pounding tirelessly at your skull and piercing your temples. For this reason, your tears flow faster and faster, snot running down your face. You know you are a mess. You haven’t attempted to bathe or brush your teeth in what you assume is two days and that fact only decides to catch up to you now, a bad time especially considering everything else that is going on. 

You’re still screaming, frozen in place on the bed and unsure of what you should do. Should you call for Steve?

_Absolutely not_.

The stress of it all starts to make you lightheaded - that and the blood loss - and your mind comes to a screeching halt as you blackout once again. 

\--

For the first time, you can hear something other than yourself. There are pounding, heavy footsteps running down the stairs - usually you can’t hear Steve when he comes down so this is really a first. The immediate reaction that your body has is to make your heart pound about a mile a minute. You’re experiencing that delirious feeling of when you cry too much and nothing feels real but everything’s too real in the moment. That’s the only way to describe it.

The whirring of the locks and the hurried opening of the door only slightly knocks you out of your stupor. The back of the door slams against the wall, bouncing back but making a louder noise than you’d anticipated. Steve’s broad frame is only a shadow against the brightly lit hallway for a second before he’s at your side, kneeling by the edge of the bed.

Taking a good look at his face, you’re shocked to find out that his face is wet with tears and his eyes are red-rimmed, his lip wobbling and his hands trembling. A broken sob leaves his mouth suddenly, making you flinch backward at the loud noise, and his head falls into his palms while his elbows rest on the edge of the bed. Your husband inhales deeply only to choke out another distressed cry. He’s muttering things into his hands, words you can’t hear and frankly don’t care to. You can only watch him as he breaks down beside you, putting on an emotionless facade while internally mourning the happiness that you could’ve had.

It takes a few minutes before he’s able to compose himself enough for his baby blues to meet your hollow eyes, flooded with remorse and sadness. If the circumstances were different, you would’ve felt for him. But they weren’t and he didn’t deserve to be so torn up about this when all of it was his fault.

“Baby, _Y/N,_ ” he begins, raising his right hand to presumably place on your own, but you jerk back suddenly, the fastest that you’ve moved in the past few days. The sad look in his eyes only becomes stronger, and he sniffs, blinking rapidly obviously to ward away tears. But where was he when you were crying? “C’mon, let’s go, darling, _please_ -”

Steve cuts himself off by standing up and swiftly scooping you up into his arms before you had the opportunity to protest. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t’ve anyway - you’re motionless in his arms, your stare unfocused and distant. Your body feels like it weighs a million tons and you’re glad that Steve is carrying you where you need to go, despite the fact that his touch now makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

He doesn’t try to talk to you ask he walks you back upstairs, but once you’re there, he can’t stop himself from crying once again at the sight of your bloodied clothes. He stops dead in the middle of the living room and turns around, probably toward the bathroom. Once he lets you slip out of his arms so that he can take off your clothes, you attempt to shriek, but your cotton mouth stops you. Instead, you descend into a coughing fit, feeling as if you could cough a lung up if you tried. You pull your arm away from your mouth only to find blood coating it. 

You could almost roll your eyes at the amount of blood you’d seen in the past few days. Steve, though, looks horrified. 

“Oh my _God,_ ” he whispers, taking a step towards you to grasp your upper arm until you flinch and jump so far that your head hits against the shower door. You’re surprised that you don’t pass out at this, but you know that by now, you’re probably concussed with the amount that you’ve been smacking your head off of things recently: the bedframe - _constantly_ \- and now this stupid door. You almost want to laugh, but you don’t because you don’t want Steve trying to send you to an insane asylum as well.

“Do you wanna take a bath, Y/N?” Steve asks precariously, not wanting to frighten you as if you were some wild animal. The silence stretches on. “Y/N _please_ \- I know I messed up, but please just look at me. I just wanna be able to see you - my precious girl.”

You don’t even know if you’re blinking, but your eyes still don’t meet his. They couldn’t, even if you’d wanted them to. Deliberately moving anything in your body seemed to be too much for your fragile state of mind, so you stay as you are, staring with heavy eyes and a stabbing headache.

“My love- my sweet baby, lemme help you get undressed so you can take this bath, hmm?” Steve attempts to coax you out of your soiled attire, but you only narrow your eyes at the light that- _was that light always so bright?_

“Y/N, you’re _killing me_ here- please speak to me- _anything_. I’ll take anything, baby, just let me know I haven’t pushed you too far this time. I’ll never forgive myself if I have,” Steve’s tears have spilled over onto his cheeks again and you’re tempted to chuckle once again - it seems as if he’s cried far more than you have at a loss that was completely all his fault.

You just shake your head and stare at the door pointedly, words escaping you. It’s as if you’ve forgotten the language in its entirety, only communicating with your eyes, really. 

“You want me to go?” Steve manages to choke out after deeply inhaling once. Your stare falls to the ground in response. Your husband puts his hands up in surrender, evidently hurt but acquiescing nonetheless. “I’ll go. I just want you to be okay, baby - that’s all I ask. Please take a bath. I won’t be far so if you do end up needing anything, I’m here.”

He slowly backs out of the room as if hoping that you’ll change your mind, but when the door shuts, it’s as if a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. You visibly relax and slowly pad over to the mirror, almost impulsively, but before you realize that you’re terrified of what you’ll find, you’re there, staring at a woman who you don’t recognize. 

At first, you adamantly refuse to believe that the woman staring back at you is the same person that you are. But slowly, as you move your hand up to touch your cheek, you realize that this indeed is you.

And you look terrible. You don’t realize how much weight you’ve actually lost until now, staring at the figure more akin to a corpse than a human in front of you. Your skin has lost its shine and your eyes are sunken and you look like a ghost.

You’re scared of yourself, shying away from the mirror before you can think about it too hard. Looking down, you see the sweater that you’re wearing is tinted red, the same with the bare skin of your legs. This time you do laugh, a small giggle that you can’t control. You turn around and stare at the bathtub, a smile still painted on your face. 

You should take a bath.

So you do, stripping yourself of your clothing and carelessly dropping it on the floor. The water’s too hot but you can’t really feel it as you slowly lower your tired bones into the bathtub. The bubbles smell like jasmine and you inhale deeply, failing to remember the last time that you felt this at peace. There should be a small smile on your face as you lean back, submerging your head underwater to drown out your loud thoughts, but there isn’t. Your face remains neutral, almost scarily so, and you lose yourself in the type of quiet that you craved when you were down in the basement: it was more of a silence than it was a quiet. You basked in it, the muted sound of water in your ears lulling you into a steady state of tranquility.

That is until massive hands crash through the water and grasp you tightly under your armpits, hauling you out of your little escape. You inhale suddenly, gasping in deep breaths and shaking at the suddenness of the intrusion. 

Steve’s shirt sleeves are soaking wet and his eyes are frantic, scanning you for something that he’s evidently looking for.

“Y/N-” his voice breaks and he shakes his head disbelievingly, “were you trying to _kill_ yourself? You were down there for minutes!”

Your stare travels down to the red bathwater and _no you weren’t_ but you can see the cause of his concern. If you were, though, it’d be his fault and you don’t think that he seems to acknowledge that. 

You don’t even realize that you’ve spoken until Steve’s face changes to one of disbelief and wonder, as he asks you to repeat what you said. So you do.

“Tony,” you rasp, your gaze focused solely on his hands that are touching your naked body. He quickly rescinds them and rubs them over his face in frustration.

“You want Tony, sweetheart? But we haven’t even talked this through- you won’t even speak to _me-_ what are you gonna say to him that you can’t say to me right now?” He’s grasping at straws and you can’t focus on his words because you’re rubbing at your sides where he grabbed you, feeling as if they have been burned by his touch. His indignance is almost like that of a child and a small smirk graces your lips before you repeat yourself, face stony and unmoving.

The only thing he can do is sigh and stand up, offering you a hand to help you step out of the bathtub. Putting both of your hands on the side of the tub, you manage to lift yourself out carefully, trembling slightly which now seems to be your default state. The way that Steve’s eyes roam your body makes you uncomfortable, but looking up at him you see that it’s not the desire like you thought it would be. It was discomfort of his own, regret and melancholy intermingled with guilt. He’s only realized the magnitude of his actions after he sees the product of his neglect.

Steve goes to hand you the towel but you grab it before he can, avoiding eye contact at all costs. You linger on your stomach for a moment and Steve seems to notice, as his eyes fill with tears once again. But you quickly move on, robotically and methodically. Tossing the towel on the floor when you’re done, you shuffle to your bedroom and snatch some clothing out of the dresser. A pair of leggings and a sweatshirt that you think is Rhodey’s because it smells like him. Your husband has followed you to the bedroom, leaning on the doorframe and watching you with sad eyes. You can only assume that this is because when you’re looking for comfort, his clothes are the ones that you usually wear.

Making eye contact with yourself above your dresser, you try and sort out your hair before giving up and putting your socks and trainers on. Frankly, you’re shocked that he’s not said anything or he’s not trying to stop you. You spy your ring and your phone in your periphery, shining in the morning light. Grabbing your phone, Steve goes to open his mouth and you quickly realize why.

Twelve days. _Twelve. Days._

It had in reality been a whole twelve days since you had gone downstairs, and you bite your lip in anger and you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. The barrage of missed calls and texts is insane and as you scroll through all of them, Steve hangs his head in shame.

How much longer would he have kept you down there if you hadn’t lost your baby?

You shake the thought out of your head, swallowing back a sob and breezing past Steve. 

His quick footsteps behind you remind you too vividly of the incident that got you into this situation in the first place, so involuntarily you speed up. 

“Baby, _Y/N_ -” Steve starts, running so that he blocks your path to the front door. This halts you in your path. “You know I didn’t wanna do that to you. It was _killing_ me watching you down there. I was going to let you out today anyway; I promise that it’s not just because of what happened- _I swear_ . But you _knew_ and I know you knew. You knew you were preg- _pregnant_ and you hid that from me. That wasn’t fair and you know it wasn’t. I gave you the opportunity to tell me the truth and you still _lied_ , baby. How could I have controlled that? You forced my hand in this matter and I’m _so sorry_ that it had to end up like this. Maybe we don’t have our,” he sniffs, “ _baby_ anymore but that doesn’t mean that we don’t have each other, sweetheart. We’ll always have each other because you’re _mine_ and I’m yours and we _love_ each other.”

At this point, you’re not if he’s trying to convince you or himself, nor are you sure why you’ve let him go on for so long when he’s obviously spiraling. So you swiftly walk around him, grabbing the keys to your car in the bowl by the door and all while ignoring the painful ache of hunger, the sting of dehydration, and the empty feeling inside of you, you slam the door behind you without a word.


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an insight into steve's mind and the reader finds a safe place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonjour babies, i'm back :) 
> 
> my plan for this story is to try and write at least a chapter a week, so hopefully i can stick to that plan. this chapter was actually a lot of fun to write for me, so i hope you guys like it as much as i do.
> 
> i also didn't proofread this so if there are any mistakes, i'm sorry, i know i suck.
> 
> as always, any feedback is always appreciated!! i love hearing what you guys think of this story - it's something new for me and i may have another dark!steve coming in the future ;) enjoy my loves! <3

Steve is at an impasse. The door slamming behind your retreating figure confirms his worst fears. The thing that he loves the most in the world is slipping through his fingers; the control that he’s worked so hard to maintain is being pulled out from underneath him. At this, his heart sinks through the floor and his hands start to twitch, itching to run after you and put you in your place. But he knows that he’s gone too far this time, letting his volatile emotions overpower common sense. The meticulous steps that he had taken prior to the last two weeks are slowly unraveling before his eyes. He’s finding it difficult to intake any air through his powerful lungs, feeling like the small, asthmatic man he was in what feels like a past life.

He can hear the wheels of your car pulling out of the driveway, speeding down the road. But that sound doesn’t drown out the sobs that wrack your chest. He’s made you cry - again. Truly, he feels as if he should be used to the sound by now, for it happens so often. Yet he can’t help the aching pain in the pit of his stomach at your pained wails. Steve’s eyes lower to the floor, tears of his own pricking his eyes. He gazes heavenwards, blinking rapidly, and then he exhales a strong breath, his lungs seemingly functioning again. His eyes dart around the house, taking in all of the pieces of you that you’ve left scattered everywhere. He finds comfort in your favorite flowers on the dinner table, your textbooks spread haphazardly on the rug in the office because _I’ll clean them up soon… I promise, Stevie… I just gotta do one more thing..._ and the California King that the two of you shared once upon a time. 

The last month of your married lives has been more hectic than Steve could ever have anticipated, and he slumps down onto one of the couches in your living room tiredly because it was never supposed to go this way. He thought that all of your fruitless retaliation had died down months ago as he watched you become increasingly submissive - the perfect wife. This is what provoked the next step - _a baby_. There are very few things that Steve wants more than a baby - a baby boy with his eyes and your hair or a baby girl that looks just like you. Eventually, he would’ve worked up to more than just one - ideally, he wanted four. Maybe nowadays it seemed like a lot with today’s 1.5 average, but in the 40s, plenty of women were having far more than four children. 

The thought makes him silently seethe, his face flushing a flaming shade of red and his nails digging little crescent moons into his palms. He never quite knew why you were so insistent on getting your doctorate. A Ph.D. is an impressive qualification to have, sure, if you were going to be working for the rest of your life, applying for jobs and dedicating a huge part of your life to a career. But as his wife, that wouldn’t be your reality. You’d have your hands full with the kids - all of his beautiful babies - and there wouldn’t be any time to have a successful career, though it’s not as if he doesn’t want you to be an intelligent woman. That was one of the reasons that he was so drawn to you in the first place.

Steve’s hands run across his face before he gets up to pour himself a glass of the bottle of Asgardian mead that he keeps in the pantry. From what he first saw of you, you had no submissive streak, an incredibly potty mouth, and basic manners. He knew that all of those things could be rectified - all he needed to do was show you how much better life could be when you acted accordingly - like a _woman_ . It was your _brain_. All of the women that Steve had dated before you were fine - pretty, eager to please, and well-mannered, for the most part. However, not a single one of them could maintain an intelligent conversation for hours at a time, all the while staying active and interested. Sharon came close: she’s an insanely smart woman but whenever they spoke, she never really wanted to get deeper like Steve. She claimed that she did enough of that in her work anyway.

And then there was you - hands down the most beautiful woman that he’s ever seen. He’ll never forget, even if he tried, the blinding nature of your bright, gorgeous smile on the day that Tony had first introduced the two of you, about two weeks after the Battle of New York, and since then, he’d fallen fast and hard and never cared to look back. The brown liquid in the glass gets swirled around twice before Steve takes a small sip, placing it forcefully back on the countertop, so hard in fact that he’s amazed that it hasn’t yet shattered.

He can’t help the smile that dances across his face as he reminisces, staring into the murky depths of his glass. The moment that he knew that you were going to be his was on your second date. You had stayed in the Tower - the Compound hadn’t been built yet - and you had just talked. It must’ve been at least five hours of just _talking_ but he hadn’t noticed until it was two in the morning and Tony came into the kitchen, covered in soot and grease, to grab a snack, and spied the two of you in the living room, leaving him completely bewildered. 

Up until the point you’d gotten married, there’d been no troubles. You had not fought _once_ , so in sync with each other that Steve almost couldn’t believe it. He’d found his soulmate, his perfect match in every single way. But that fateful night in South Africa had truly changed the tone of your entire marriage. He’s always known what kind of person you are - you are fine with entertaining the flirts who come your way, especially his best friends, as long as they know that you are very much in a happy, committed relationship. At some point, he was becoming convinced that you may have run away and eloped with Bucky, Sam, or Nat. 

He chuckles, running his pointer finger over the rim of the glass while his left hand braces himself against the countertop. He knows about what the effects of domestic violence can do to a marriage, especially when that involves children. He vowed to himself early in his life that he would never raise a hand to his significant other, not in any capacity or for any reason. But that night the situation was out of his hands. He could do nothing but sit down and watch you bask in the attention that the handsome waiter gave you, flirting with him right in front of your new husband. It was not only bold but extremely disrespectful on your part, and Steve’s teeth clench together at the mere thought of it. He sat there, helpless, and he knew that you knew how he felt in the moment, but you kept doing it anyway. 

So when you raised your voice at his warranted annoyance at your actions when you were in the hotel room, he saw red. He’s never wanted to hurt you, not ever in his entire life. But he knew that would shut you up, a quick, painless slap to the cheek just so you were aware of exactly who you were dealing with. What Steve didn’t bank on was your overreaction at the light reprimand, you running to the beach and calling Tony, your crutch. He knew he didn’t hit you that hard, but he also knew that he had to placate you before you did something drastic and blew the situation way out of proportion.

And from there, your relationship changed. From what was once a healthy, symbiotic relationship grew endless frustrations and arguments. You infuriated him on purpose, constantly pushing his buttons until he had no choice but to snap. You knew full well what his stance on children and your career was before you got married - his subtle hints were more than enough for a smart girl like you. He didn’t think that he needed to spell it out. Steve strolls over to your bedroom after downing his drink and dumping the glass in the sink, sitting on the edge of the massive bed that looks so empty without you in it. He remembers all of the warm, heady nights that he molded you against his body, cock buried deep within you and thoughts racing through his head about keeping you like this forever, bedded and fucked full of his seed. Thoughts about how he’d subtly start switching your birth control out with sugar pills, the joy on your face when you’d find out that you were pregnant, coming home to you in the kitchen with dinner on the table and a baby on your hip.

Yet you fight him on everything, knowing what his reaction is going to be. If you’d just acquiesce to the terms that he knows are best for you, maybe he could negotiate some of the rules that you aren’t so fond of. He knows that you can be a good girl for him, but you must enjoy the punishment you get. Steve leans back until his back hits the plush comforter and brings his hands up to comb through his hair, spotting his sleeves that are still damp from dragging your limp body out of the bathtub.

The conversation that he’d had with you about starting a family brings him back to the sweet aroma of icing sugar and vanilla cookies. He didn’t have to have that conversation with you, but he thought that it’d be the most likely way to get you to agree with him. He knew that deep down you wanted exactly what he did, but it’d take some time to get you to realize that. In the meantime, he’d try to win you over verbally. He thought that you’d be grateful. Yet all you did was show that side of you that he’d tried his best to get rid of - the stubborn, spoiled little brat who goes against all of his wishes just because she can.

You’d deserved what had come to you after that - that beautiful night when he had taken your body over and over again, ensuring that his seed would take and that you’d be pregnant in a matter of weeks. The plan was for him to fuck you throughout that week, but when he’d woken up the next day to the damage that he’d inflicted on your body, he felt cold, deep remorse that settled like a rock in his chest. He couldn’t believe what he’d done to you, the physical damage shown in the bruises, bites, and swollen flesh all over your body. For a minute, he thought that he’d made a mistake, your shaking body in his lap on the couch in the living room a telltale sign of your trauma. But then he remembered your atrocious behavior from the night before, and he realized that the pain was just collateral damage - he would have achieved his real goal soon enough.

The pills that you’d gotten from Tony alone were enough to push him to use the basement, but you running and then lying to his face about something so important was what really sent him off the edge. He doesn’t remember much about those few minutes after he shut the door to the basement, but construction workers had been in for the next week trying to repair all of the shattered windows. Tony and the rest of the team had been sent by Fury on a zero-contact mission to infiltrate what was suspected to be the beginnings of a Hydra base upon their stint in D.C somewhere in Belarus. There was no time to return to New York, luckily enough for Steve, and Tony had taken Rhodey in his place, solving another potential problem that Steve could’ve encountered. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten with the timing. 

It was unbelievable: nobody there to ask him questions or demand answers about your marriage that were none of their business. But the wet cotton sticking to the skin of his wrists only reminds him of the misstep that he’d made by keeping you down there for so long. He’d only intended for it to be a week at most, as he figured that that was the longest that you could go before you broke. It seemed like he’d grossly underestimated your ability to survive - the fight inside of you that he’d presumed to be long gone must’ve still been very much present. He couldn’t resist walking down the stairs at least once a day to stand outside the door, hoping that you’d see his shadow and start your repentance. But no - there was no sign of any of that, not from the video feed that he spent every waking hour glued to nor the expensive microphones down there that could pick up on every single little sound. 

He was shocked, to say the least. So your punishment dragged on for almost a week longer than it was meant to. What you didn’t know is that those days were just as painful for him as they were for you, if not more. He half-believed you when you told him that you didn’t know whether or not you were pregnant - he knew how fearful you are of the basement. It was better than a flat-out no, but he was convinced that there was absolutely no way that you couldn’t be pregnant, especially with the number of times that he came in you. 

But that night- _that night_ when he saw the copious amounts of blood drain from your body and soak the sheets of the bed, he thought that he’d died. As soon as he was able to unfreeze his limbs and peel himself out of his chair, he threw himself down the steps to the basement, tears racing down his cheeks and the arteries in his heart pumping blood so quickly that it felt as if it was suffocating him. When he saw your frail form on the bed, the guilt and pain that he felt on behalf of his child were immense. He had caused a part of this, starving you down in that basement just to teach you a lesson. But at the same time, it was just as much your fault as it was his. You didn’t have to act out and lead him to do what he did. Despite all of this, as he falls asleep, not only does he realize that he may have broken you for good this time but that a piece of him had died on that bed right along with your baby. 

\--

You are essentially driving blind, muscle memory and instinct alone taking you to the Avengers Compound. You don’t know whether or not you should feel betrayed that neither Rhodey nor Jeanette nor Tony has come to find you, but you’re sure that there must be a viable explanation for it all. Your tear ducts feel as if they are on fire as you have recently found that you have no more tears left to cry. The radio is playing some stupid pop song that you’ve heard a million times, but that sense of familiarity is somewhat comforting in this moment of distress. It reassures you that the world around you is still very much real and existent, though you can’t say the same for your peace of mind.

Though you _could_ almost cry - _almost_ \- with relief when you pull into the Compound, security giving you immediate clearance, though not without a few questioning glances. You take your time to park, killing the engine and sitting in your car silently. You hum the song you heard on the radio as you exit your car, swinging your car keys around on your index finger. 

As you enter the Compound’s main entrance, F.R.I.D.A.Y greets you softly and you can’t help but smile, the A.I’s voice seemingly holding a hint of concern as she asks you if you’re okay.

“I’m fine, F.R.I.D.A.Y,” you reassure her, biting your lip and looking around at the bustling building. Soldiers are everywhere, some of them greeting you with an “‘Afternoon, Mrs. Rogers,” or just a head nod. Already, you feel more welcomed here than you do in your own home.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, are Tony or Rhodey around? I really need to speak to them, if that’s okay,” you’re not sure why you’re asking the A.I for permission, as you never have before, and realize that you’re scared that she may reject you in some capacity.

“Mrs. Rogers, the quinjet with Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes is just arriving. If you enter the elevator, I will take you to the top floor where they are landing. ” 

You breathe a sigh of relief and get in the elevator, shifting your feet nervously and picking at your cuticles. You stare wistfully at your left hand, a part of you missing the weight that your engagement and wedding rings had on your finger. But you shake that feeling off, knowing that what’s happening now is for the best. 

The first person that you see when the elevator opens to the outside is Rhodey wearing black under armor, laughing at a joke that Vision makes. You don’t even realize that you’ve run towards him until you launch yourself into his arms, making him stagger back slightly.

“Woah there, killer,” he chuckles, arms automatically winding around your waist. “You’re squeezin’ the life out of me here. You know, it’s fine to just say ‘Rhodey, I missed you’ as well. But I do find that I much prefer this.”

He squeezes you back tighter, swaying you from side to side exaggeratedly which makes you giggle before holding you at an arm’s length. The cheeky smile on his face immediately disappears and his brow furrows. “Damn, Y/N. Is that my sweater? I’ve been looking for that for _months_. And I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, but holy shit. What has Steve been feeding you out there? You’re basically a bag of bones-”

You drop your eyes to the ground and open your mouth to answer his question but another very familiar voice interrupts you.

“That’s no way to speak to a lady, Rhodey. C’mon now, I taught you better than this.”

Tony, wearing blue-tinted sunglasses, a black t-shirt, and jeans, walks up behind Rhodey and slaps his back twice, making Rhodey throw him an intense glare. Bucky flanks him on his left, making eye contact with you before smiling brightly. You attempt to reciprocate, but his smile falls in the same way that Rhodey’s does when he _really_ looks at you. It makes you self-conscious, tugging at your sleeves.

Tony pushes his sunglasses down his nose before taking them off completely, the hard light in his eyes making you cower. He doesn’t say anything before he steps towards you, scooping you up into his arms which triggers something deep within you that finally sets off the waterworks.

Rhodey and Bucky look alarmed over Tony’s shoulder, coming up to the two of you to surround you in a hug. Bucky and Rhodey’s arms wind over you and Tony’s shoulders and before you know it, you’re in a very warm, Avenger sandwich. 

“Doll, what’s goin’ on?” Bucky asks, worry flooding his steel-blue eyes.

Tony’s jaw sets in a hard line before regarding the two men.

“We all need to have a chat, don’t we, sweetpea?”

You don’t know if they can feel you nod your head, but you do it anyway, the sobs leaving your mouth obstructing the passage of any actual words.

Bucky’s stress doesn’t alleviate, and you can feel it in the tenseness of his arms. “What’s this all about, Tony?”

Tony sighs, annoyed, before looking him directly in the eyes. 

“It’s about your buddy Steve.”


	8. eight, lay them straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader shares her story with the people she loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! it's me, i'm back :)
> 
> i don't have much to say apart from that in all of this madness, i hope that all of you are staying safe and staying healthy. make sure to take care of yourselves. i love you all ❤️
> 
> in any case, feedback is always welcome and appreciated as usual! i hope you enjoy this chapter!

The afternoon sun bathes the common room in yellow light through the wall of windows that overlooks the scenery beyond the Compound. The warmth that spreads throughout the room wraps around you in a blanket of affection, and the pain that you feel deep in your stomach dulls. The white bowl filled to the brim with multicolored fruits of all kinds - strawberries, blueberries, grapes, raspberries - sits on the coffee table and tempts you, but you can’t stomach anything quite yet despite the hunger that seems to be eating away at you. Instead, your gaze travels out the window. The sky is perfectly blue, the color so reminiscent of Steve’s eyes that you look away to the lush green fields sprinkled with vegetation that bring you a sense of security, much like the six people sitting around you.

On one the sofas, your back rests against Rhodey’s front, his arms wrapped loosely around you. Leaning back, closing your eyes and inhaling, his familiar musky scent takes you back to the years that the two of you spent together as children. Your eyes move down your body, reaching your legging-clad thighs which rest on another pair of denim-clad legs that belong to Rhodey’s sister and your childhood best friend, Jeanette, who Tony and Rhodey had sent the quinjet for as soon as you arrived. Her job in Lyon keeps her away for most of the year, but at least you always have an excuse to travel to France. She knows you better than you know yourself, and she has always been the one to help you make your most difficult decisions. Regrettably, this is a time where her presence would have been key in helping you escape your marriage.

Meeting her familiar brown eyes, she squeezes your thigh reassuringly and shoots you her signature smile, bright and toothy with an underlying feeling of slyness. It makes you chuckle and lean up away from Rhodey to wrap your arm around her neck, tired of fighting back your tears and letting one roll down your face. When you pull away and she sees the wetness on your face, her thumb comes up to gently wipe it off while she gives you a fake disapproving look and clucks her tongue, causing a watery laugh to spill from your lips. 

“Hey - no more of that, huh?” she speaks softly, her voice changed from all her time spent abroad. The slight French accent caresses your ears and your head nods of its own volition. At this, she grins again, placing her well-manicured hands on either side of your face and kissing both of your cheeks. You lean back into Rhodey and continue staring at the people sitting with you. 

Your feet are covered in white fuzzy socks provided coincidentally by the person who they are resting on. Sitting next to Janette and massaging your feet which rest in his lap, Tony doesn’t make eye contact with you, teeth gnawing at his lower lip and tapping his foot restlessly against the plush carpet. He’s nervous which makes you frown, worried that he’s beating himself up over something that he can’t control.

Continuing on their path, your gaze lands on Bucky who is sat to your side, perched on the edge on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees. One of his hands is pressed to his forehead while he stares intently at the carpet, and his feet are tapping the same incessant rhythm as Tony’s. His chest heaves unsteadily, a significant deviation from the norm. Your hand reluctantly extends to place on top of his arm, making his head shoot up and the two of you make eye contact. The blue in his eyes is dark, and his face is flushed somewhat red, surely with all of the effort that it’s taking not to fall into a panic attack or lash out. He can’t even try to smile for you, but you recognize this and know that even looking into your eyes at the moment is enough reassurance for you on his end; it’s what he can manage right now. His teeth continue to bite at his thumbnail.

Across from you on the other couch sit Sam and Natasha, Sam’s arm slung against the back of the sofa and Natasha sitting bolt upright, the tension visible throughout her body. Her spine is ramrod straight and her eyes are focused solely on you so that when you look at her, her eyes are already locked on yours. It scares but somehow comforts you to know that this situation can make even Natasha Romanoff nervous, making you feel as if maybe you haven’t been overreacting this entire time. Sam’s normally jovial demeanor and his smirk are nowhere to be seen in the oppressive silence. Instead, he rubs pensively at his goatee with his lips pursed and his eyes regarding you scrutinizingly.

It’s evident that they’re all waiting for you to speak and you think that you’ve sat in this heavy silence long enough. Inhaling a deep breath, all eyes in the room - if they’re not already - snap to you, making you avert your gaze to your hands that are winding your fingers together.

“So, uh - if I could ask none of you to speak until I’m done that would be great...? Just so we can all get through this with relative ease?”

Everybody nods their compliance and you relax.

“... Right, cool - Tony already knows this,” you briefly look at him, “but Steve and I have been having some… _troubles_ in our marriage, I guess you could say.”

Tony’s scoff sounds loud in the deathly silent room and everyone looks surprised, but you choose to ignore it and power through.

“Uh, right, ok,” you will your voice not to crack as you launch right into it. “Steve has been getting _physical_ with me for the past year now,” your voice raises at the end of the sentence like it’s a question, “and recently it’s been getting a lot more intense so to speak.”

You take a deep breath.

“I’m not looking for pity or sympathy because of what’s happened, or anything like that. It wasn’t anything that I couldn’t handle, you know? It’s just really come to a head recently which is why I reached out to Tony for help. When he first hit me on our honeymoon, I had no idea that this could have gotten this out of hand, but it did. It’s only gotten so much worse from there. Don’t get me wrong, there were absolutely no issues before the honeymoon - none at all. He was the sweetest, most attentive and caring man that I’d ever met. But it was like a switch flipped - he has become a man that I can’t recognize as the same man that I stood at the altar with and read my vows to, a man who has become a stranger to me - I don’t feel like I even know him anymore. 

“He claims that he loves me but he’s constantly losing his temper and taking that aggression out on me,” Jeanette sniffs loudly, snatching a tissue from the box next to Bucky and dabbing at her eyes, “but what really hurts are his words more than anything. He degrades me, puts me down all the time. His latest endeavor has been trying to get me to quit school and have kids. When I refused, h-he forced himself on-” you choke on your tears, but judging by the expressions of the others, they know exactly what you’re about to say.

“... for the last two weeks when you guys were in Belarus, he locked me in the basement,” you deadpan and you can feel Rhodey’s breath catch behind you, “I- I _asked him_ to get rid of all that stuff down there the first time but he didn’t and- I wasn’t fed: I could only drink water and all I did was sleep down there until he thought that I had learned my lesson. I supposedly lied to him after he asked me whether or not I was pregnant- I _swear_ I didn’t know, but he put me down there instead… for _two weeks_ … and I know that he’s different when he’s with all of you - he loves you guys, wants to be the best version of himself for all of you. But I lost my baby down there.”

The silence becomes quieter and Jeanette’s tears increase tenfold, sobs tearing through her chest much like the ones that are building up in yours. You wipe your cheeks with your long sleeves, sniffing quietly. Jeanette’s crying has always set you off, and Tony wraps his arm around her shoulders, letting her cry into his shirt all while rubbing small circles into the soles of your feet. 

“And that’s really it - I don’t want to go into too much detail a-about all of it,” your voice is now shaky as your eyes scan the room. Bucky’s face is hidden in the palms of his hands, and Sam has adopted a similar position with his face shielded by the heels of his hands pressed to his forehead. You catch a singular tear make its way about halfway down Natasha’s face before she promptly swipes it away, her eyes still shiny with those that have been unshed. Rhodey grips your hand tightly, his body shaking a little.

“All I can ask for now is your support.” 

You shrug, unsure of your statement, and let your hands fall onto your thighs loudly for a sense of finality. Nobody moves for a beat but then Bucky leaps towards you off of his perch on the table, strong arms pulling you a little bit out of Rhodey’s lap and enveloping you in the tightest hug that you’ve ever received from him. He hugs you all the time, upon your insistence, but it’s always as if he’s terrified of his own strength, although you’ve assured him countless times that you won’t break. You wonder for a moment if you were mistaken, as Bucky squeezes all of the air out of your lungs. One of your arms manages to extricate itself from his tight grip, coming up to wind around his neck while you bury your face in his hair. He’s on his knees in front of you, and you realize that you’ve never seen Bucky so vulnerable. Too soon, he is pulling back from you, staring you dead in the eyes with an unidentifiable emotion clouding his gaze. He says nothing before he bolts out of the room, the fingers of his metal arm flexing menacingly before he disappears from your sight. 

The silence stretches on for another minute before Rhodey’s chest vibrates against your back, his voice louder than you expected it to be. “Why the _fuck_ didn’t you tell me, Tony?”

This isn’t the initial reaction that you expected, looking over your shoulder in disbelief at Rhodey’s blank face and hard eyes. He doesn’t look at you, still glaring at his best friend. Turning your attention back to Tony, you can see that he does not look in the least bit shocked, as if he knew this was coming. He runs a hand through his hair, finally meeting Rhodey’s stare. 

“Obviously I was going to,” he begins carefully, “but then Fury called and asked us to go to Washington. I thought that the trip would only take a couple of days maximum, which would’ve allowed us more than enough time to get back to killer here before Steve came back from California. But then Fury sent us to motherfucking _Belarus_ , Rhodey, for _two weeks_. Halfway across the world, I had to worry about her every minute of every day without being allowed to contact her at all. I was losing focus every minute because I was going crazy out there without knowing how she was. I didn’t want you to have to go through that, nor did I want to risk jeopardizing the mission any more than I already could.”

The last word of Tony’s sentence is far louder than when he started, his cheeks tinted a slight shade of red and his nails digging into the palms of his hands. Rhodey’s face softens considerably, looking down at you with deep sadness reflected in his eyes. You attempt to smile, but he just hugs you tighter from the back. You pat his arms gently, rubbing them up and down to soothe him. 

“Look,” Rhodey sighs, “I don’t wanna fight about this, Tony. But goddamnit, I would like to hear about things like this as soon as you know them, no matter what circumstances we’re under. You think you can do that for me, Tones?”

Tony only nods his head, staring distantly into space and continuing to draw circles now on your ankles. Natasha stands up and walks towards you; the redheaded assassin grabs your hand and, surprising everybody but you, kisses your forehead quickly. They stare at her in shock and she smirks, squeezing your hand between the two of hers.

“We’re here for you, Y/N… _all_ of us,” she states simply, rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand soothingly. You thank her quietly, biting your lip. “Though I’m going to go look for Bucky and make sure that he’s not going to do anything stupid.” She swiftly heads out of the common room, pulling out her phone from her back pocket.

Sam also gets up, making his way over to you.

“Kid,” he sighs, also grasping your hand tightly. “There aren’t enough words to express what I’m feeling right now. None of us had any idea about this, although I should have spoken up when I thought that I was seeing some of the signs…” 

He shakes his head, looking away from you seemingly ashamed. “I just thought I was therapizing everybody, overthinking it, you know? I’ve failed you-”

You cut him off there with a wave of your hand.

“Absolutely not - I don’t want you blaming yourself for any of this- _any of you_. It’s no one’s fault but his.”

Sam nods slowly, and it’s obvious that he hasn’t absolved himself of the guilt but goes along with it for your benefit. He rises, placing his hands on his hips, reminding you briefly of Steve. You shake away the thought as Sam gazes out of the window.

“I’m going to go and help Natasha track down Bucky,” he tells you. “We’ll be back soon, okay? And by then, hopefully, we’ll have spoken to Steve, since I’m assuming that’s where Bucky went.”

He gives you one last close-mouthed smile before leaving the same way both Natasha and Bucky had.

Jeanette’s sobs are now silent, but they still shake her entire body. Sitting up, you move towards her and fling your arms around her, feeling her body lean into you and her forehead on your shoulder. Her arms wind around you as well and you do nothing but sit there a while, your brothers on either side of you two. 

“I’m so sorry, _ma chérie,_ ” she whispers into your ear, and you squeeze her tighter in response. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. I don’t wanna leave you here any longer. I’ll take some time off work and-”

“Hey, hey,” you stop her, moving back and looking at her tear-stained face. You wipe them away with your sleeve, shaking your head all the while. “I know how much you love your job. I don’t wanna take you away from that.”

Jeanette searches your eyes before cracking a smile. “Well, it’s not like I ever take days off anyway. I probably have several months worth of days off that I’ve saved up. And hey, if I need to be here for longer, they’ll let me stay. It’s not a problem, especially not when it comes to you.”

You don’t say more because you’re choked up by the blazing warmth in your heart, overwhelmed with the amount of love that you feel for these people who pull you in close and accept you as the damaged goods that you’ve become. 

"...Now will you please eat the food that we brought you?" Tony begs with a gesture to the bowl of fruit on the table, which promptly makes your burst into a fit of giggles.

\--

Natasha hops out of the car before it’s even fully stopped in the driveway of your and Steve’s house, Sam killing the engine and following close behind her. They sprint through the open front door, eyes darting around wildly in an attempt to find the man who they are after. 

“ _Fuck you!”_

The scream bounces off the walls of the house, and the pair of Avengers run towards it desperately, Natasha’s heeled boots and Sam’s trainers pounding against the hardwood floors.

They burst through the closed door of your bedroom before stopping short at the sight of Steve with a swollen eye and a split lip, spitting blood onto the floor. Bucky, unharmed, approaches him again to throw another punch at his jaw until Natasha leaps forward and wraps her arms around his bicep.

“Bucky, _stop_ ,” she commands firmly, leaving absolutely no room for argument. Sam leaves to grab an ice pack from the fridge, wrapping it in a towel before walking back and handing it to Steve while Natasha tries to cool Bucky down. He still has a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Thanks, man,” Steve speaks quietly, pressing the pack to his eye. 

“Don’t thank me,” Sam replies coldly, not meeting his eyes. “We have a lot to discuss.”

Rage flashes through Steve’s eyes at that, but he only exhales deeply before falling tiredly to sit on the bed. 

“Look, guys, will you hear me out before you say anything?”

Bucky laughs hollowly at this, scoffing and then looking at his best friend.

“Seriously? You want us to hear _you_ out after you put your hands on that defenseless woman, and then _starved_ your baby to death. Are you fucking with me?”

Natasha shushes him softly, whispering something Russian into his ear. It takes a minute before he relaxes his stance, the fire still blazing in his eyes. Natasha turns on her heel and pins Steve with the same look. 

“We’ll hear you out, but I really don’t think that anything will change our minds at this point. Besides, I don’t think that I can hold Bucky back like that again, so this better be good.”

  
  



	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve is forced to explain himself and the reader is told some disturbing news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy sunday!! i really wanted to get this out earlier this week, but i didn't exactly know how i wanted to write this chapter. but i hope that you guys like it - from here on out, i don't think things will get any easier for our reader ;)
> 
> also i haven't proofread this so if there are any mistakes, it's because i'm dumb :))
> 
> as always, any feedback is always welcome and appreciated! i love reading all of your comments, they're all so sweet! <3 enjoy!

Steve’s best friends sit in front of him - arguably, some of his favorite people in the world who he thought would love and support him infallibly. Yet here they sit, altogether but so far apart. He’s never felt so emotionally distant from any of them, and to feel like that all at once, he thinks that his whole world is crashing down on him. Sam, Natasha, and Bucky are sitting across from him in your living room looking relatively relaxed considering the circumstances under which they entered. Steve touches his bruised eye, wincing and feeling someone’s gaze burn a hole into his forehead. Looking up, he meets the hard blue eyes of his best friend who has a smirk on his face and an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Steve sighs, rubbing his hands against his thighs nervously.

“Can I get you guys anything to drink? Eat, maybe?”

Sucking his teeth, Sam laughs bemusedly and shakes his head, while Natasha examines her nails disinterestedly before seemingly considering it. Bucky runs a hand through his hair nonchalantly.

“Yeah,” Natasha’s smooth voice cuts through the heavy silence. “Actually, I’ll take some cranberry juice if you’ve got any. If not, then just water’s fine.”

Sam’s head whips over to stare at the assassin, narrowing his eyes and scoffing. She only shrugs, her signature smirk lifting the corner of her lips. 

“I’ll take something too, Steve,” Bucky speaks up, chipping dried blood off of his knuckles. “Got an apple or somethin’?”

Steve only nods robotically, turning on his heel and heading to the kitchen. He doesn’t care to tune in and hear Sam’s aggressive whispering that’s coming from behind him, so he grabs Bucky’s apple and pours Natasha’s juice, bringing them to the living room to place on the coffee table. They remain silent as he gives them what they asked for, Bucky snatching the apple and twirling it in his hand distractedly before his teeth sink into it. 

Restlessly, Steve does manage to sit down but his leg is jumping up and down because his body is buzzing with nervous energy. He never thought that it’d have to come to this, his friends turned against him and interrogating him as if he had _killed_ somebody. Betrayal stings his eyes and burns his throat, but his thoughts turn bitter when they turn to you because all of this is _all your fault._ They’ve sided with you, someone that they’ve known for less time and are objectively not as close to. It makes him feel physically sick.

“Well?” Natasha once again halts the racing of his frantic mind, an eyebrow arched and the cranberry juice in her hand.

Steve’s eyes lock onto Sam, the person who he thinks is most willing and open to hearing what he has to say, and the blonde’s gaze is pleading. Sam’s brown eyes bore right back into his, stare unwavering and not quite _cold_ but definitely lacking in the warmth that he’s so accustomed to seeing. 

“Look,” his voice comes out stronger than he anticipates and it spurs him on to continue, “it’s really not what you guys think…”

\--

You’re sitting between your best friend’s legs on the floor of the common room several hours after you poured your heart out to your family. Jeanette’s long and lithe fingers comb through your hair and massage gently at your scalp, making you tilt your head back so that your neck rests on the couch cushion. The fuzzy rug beneath you is thick enough for you to run your fingers through, all while the clear and clean notes of the French musician’s voice caressing your ears puts you at ease. Rhodey and Tony are in the kitchen to the right of the two of you, arguing over… _something_.

“Tones, it’s _my_ mom’s cake,” Rhodey pipes up, sounding completely exasperated with the man next to him.

“Okay, that may be true but I make it _so much_ better-”

“That’s just _not true,_ man. Mom and I used to throw _down_ in the kitchen - where were you?”

“Obviously doing things that were more important than voluntarily spending time with you,” Tony smirks, snatching the flour out of Rhodey’s hands, causing a huge cloud of white powder to fly into the air. Jeanette chuckles loudly from above you.

“Tony- _Tony_ \- just let me do the rest of it, dude. I promise I’ve got it-”

“-But do you _really_?”

“Yes, _shut up_ , I do-”

They go relatively silent for a while before something loud and distinctly _metal_ clatters on the floor, causing Rhodey to heave a deep sigh and Tony to bark out a hysterical laugh.

“ _See_ , Rhodey, I _told_ you that you can’t mix things like that-”

“Tony, I’ve done this a hundred times before without any issues, but now you’re here it feels like maybe _you’re_ the problem in this equation-”

Tony holds up his phone threateningly. “Don’t make me call Roberta-”

Rhodey’s eyes go comically wide before he leaps at Tony who moves out of his way at the last second. “Do _not_ do that, Tony-”

“Oh look,” Tony taps a few things on the screen before the sound of a phone ringing drowns out the sound of the music. “It’s already ringing. Huh, that’s crazy, I wonder how it did that. How did it do that, F.R.I.D.A.Y, that’s insane.”

“I believe you were the one who initiated the call, sir,” the A.I’s pleasant voice replies, sounding almost amused.

“Oh right,” Tony’s grin stretches wide across his face as he keeps leaping out of the way to avoid his best friend. 

“Anthony?” a voice on the other end of the phone speaks and Rhodey starts to stress out. At this point, Jeanette has stopped her motions in your hair completely, having doubled over in laughter, eyes watering and cheeks aching. 

“Bertie,” Tony calls her affectionately, breaking out into a full sprint out of the kitchen. “I think your son may be a little confused…”

His voice fades as he rounds the corner, Rhodey hot on his heels, attempting to shout protests to defend himself over the phone. The two of you on the couch collapse into a fit of giggles, Jeanette having resumed playing with your hair. The feeling of her acrylics scratching against your scalp is borderline orgasmic, and it makes your eyes flutter shut, a soft smile on your lips. You’re in a completely contented state of mind, not thinking about anything that transpired in the past few hours, days or wee-

“Ah, fuck!” Jeanette shouts, slapping her hands down on your shoulders. Wincing, you crane your head back to stare at her. 

“Jesus, J,” you rub at your sore shoulders, rolling them out and trying to soothe the stinging skin. 

“Oh, sorry!” she apologizes quickly but sincerely, standing up and grabbing your arm to pull you up with her. “We should’ve been with Dr. Cho _hours_ ago. I think she’s expecting us.”

Groaning, your pleasant mood has definitely been dampened. You really don’t need any more reminders of current events, let alone the pity that you know will come from some of the doctors and nurses down in the Med Bay.

“Jeanette, I think I’ll be okay with some rest-”

“Hush!” she interrupts you as the elevator doors slide open. “I can’t believe we didn’t get you there sooner - you think that’d be the _first_ thing- instead we were listening to those stupid idiots argue over a cake that _none_ of them were making correctly, by the way. I hope Helen’s not too mad… even those two forgot about it! Holy shit… F.R.I.D.A.Y! - why didn’t you remind us?!”

Jeanette sounds like she's about three seconds from losing her mind, and you smile at her fondly. From a young age, she has always hated it when people are tardy in any capacity. So when she ends up being late, she gets fairly worked up, which is what you’re witnessing right now. You place a hand on her arm as the elevator starts to move down, 

“Jeanette-”

“Ms. Rhodes, Dr. Cho informed me that any time would suit her just fine - she recognized that you may need some time before coming to see her.”

Jeanette huffs angrily, looping her arm through yours, her other hand squeezing your arms and poking at your body. Her gaze grows sad as she worries her lip in between her teeth, scanning your figure.

“J, it’s fine-”

“No, it’s very _not_ fine, Y/N,” she states firmly, although her voice shakes a little. You ride down in silence for the rest of the way.

Upon reaching Med Bay, Dr. Cho is waiting for the two of you in the lobby. She gives you a warm smile, stepping forward and catching you off guard by wrapping her arms around you. You’d never known Helen to be affectionate in any capacity, so this was a real surprise, though not an unwelcome one. You reciprocate before she holds you at arms-length, narrowing her eyes before sighing and looking over to the woman next to you.

“Hi, Jeanette,” she says quickly before turning back to you and motioning for you to follow her. Grabbing her clipboard off of the reception desk, she flips through her papers while she takes off down the hallway. You and Jeanette exchange a glance before following her brisk footsteps. You all take another elevator upstairs, walking down another hallway before she stops in front of a door, pushing the handle down which reveals a large examination room with a desk in the corner that houses a very stressed Bruce Banner seated at the table.

“Dr. Banner,” Dr. Cho clears her throat, making the man in front of you turn around.

“Y/N?” his head cocks to the side and he slips his glasses down his face to get a better look at you. He seems reluctant in his approach, taking measured steps towards you before finally coming to engulf you in a hug, gently swaying side to side. You don’t know how many times you’d been hugged in the past 24 hours but it’s not like you mind it. “We were so worried…”

You can only return his statement with a warm smile, eyes darting nervously around your environment. You’ve never really liked hospitals - they smell too sterile and remind you acutely of death. Everything is too white, too bright, too loud. It leaves you with an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

Bruce clears his throat after giving Jeanette a kind greeting, patting the examination table. He passes you a hospital gown and gestures vaguely to the bathroom in the corner of the room. You do as he says, walking into the all-white bathroom to change your clothes. When you’re done, you smooth your gown out and then catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. 

It’s hard to know how anyone has been able to look at you for the whole day. A bag of bones with sunken, tired eyes and dull skin, you feel as if the woman in the mirror is not only _terrifying_ but has lost any and _all_ reason to live: she’s defeated and it shows. Though staring at yourself suddenly makes you want to be violently sick, so you throw up all of the contents of your stomach, promptly washing out your mouth with the mouthwash that you find by the sink. You exhale strongly, before steeling yourself and heading out. Bruce is standing with one hand in his hair and the other on his hip, while Jeanette’s arms are folded; as soon as they hear the door open, they stop speaking and shoot you forced smiles. You look between the two of them skeptically before Bruce walks over to the bed, patting it invitingly.

“Hop on up.”

You do as he says, arms shaking to support you when you push yourself up. Jeanette grabs your hand and you swing your legs absent-mindedly while Bruce sets up a variety of machinery that you’re not at all familiar with - apart from one. 

“Is that an ultrasound machine?” you ask, confusion pervading your senses. 

Bruce briefly looks back at you over his shoulder as he nods. “Yeah, it is. They aren’t just used for pregnancy - we can check a bunch of your vitals to see if you’ve developed any serious conditions while you were in that room, such as those in your heart or your bladder - and we’ll be checking your uterus too.”

You nod slowly, attempting to breathe deeply and evenly to control your steadily increasing levels of stress and laying onto your back. Bruce does the standard procedure of squirting the cold gel on your abdomen, spreading it over your skin gently. Automatically, you wince at how cold it is, and your blood pressure spikes: you’re terrified - what if there’s some irreparable issue that’s just been festering inside your body? An issue caused by you not speaking up earlier? Something so serious that it only gives you a few weeks to live?

This is why you don’t like hospitals.

Taking the transducer and waving it over your body, Bruce’s stare is glued onto the screen where moving black and white images that you can’t make out are displayed.

“Y/N, this is just to check for any lasting damage that may have happened because of your- the- what happened to you,” Bruce, obviously struggling, stutters his way through his sentence. “After this, we’ll do some x-rays and CAT scans just to make sure you’re in working order. Regardless, we’ll probably keep you in here for the next couple of days at the very least, if that’s okay with you.”

You nod almost imperceptibly, Jeanette squeezing your hand in silent reassurance. Bruce keeps moving around, speaking to himself as he goes.

“Everything’s looking great so far… no issues there… oh, what’s- oh no, that’s fine…. that’s probably to be expected… hold on.”

Bruce narrows his eyes in confusion, looking at the transducer and then back to the screen, and then he does it again. Your heart is threatening to burst out of your chest now, any attempt of steady breathing having been _thrown_ out the window as you stare at Bruce in concern.

“Bruce, what- what’s the matter? Is there something wrong?” Your voice is shaky but you’re determined to find out whether or not you’re _dying_. 

“No, it’s just… wow, okay,” he takes a deep breath before locking eyes with you. “I guess that things have turned out a little different than we all expected.”

\--

Jeanette had just left your room for the night after insisting that if she was there, the two of you wouldn’t get any sleep. Despite your whiny protests, you knew she was right and you let her go. So now you sit alone in the middle of an admittedly _huge_ hospital room, an IV in your arm pumping fluids into your body so that your body can regulate itself and return to a healthy state, for it’s lacking in a variety of key nutrients. Your eyes land on the empty pizza boxes in the corner of the room, you and Tony having virtually inhaled two of the large pizzas in under half an hour. The memory makes you smile warmly, knowing that this is a place that you can finally take the time that you need to unwind and rediscover yourself. 

There’s only a lamp on in the corner of the room, the main lights too harsh for your eyes, especially this late at night. You settle into the bed, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with your body and causing you to drift off quite easily into what is the most peaceful sleep that you’ve had in months.

It’s not long before you wake up to the feeling of eyes on your body. Your eyes still closed, you assume that it’s Jeanette who told you that she’d be here first thing in the morning. But when you blink your eyes open and glance at the red numbers on the digital clock by your bedside, it’s in reality only 2:12 in the morning. 

You must be imagining it, so you huff, annoyed that your sleep has been interrupted, and lay back once again. You snuggle into the blankets because the room is _freezing_ and try to fall back into your dreams. But the feeling doesn’t go away - in fact, it only pervades your senses even more than before. Your eyes open again, scanning your dim room for any sign of life but you come up short once again. 

_Am I going crazy?_

Whether or not you are descending into madness doesn’t matter at this moment because now, you can’t fall back asleep. It must be paranoia that’s burning your skin with its gaze and gnawing away at your sanity. Yes - _paranoia_. 

Until you see it.

A shadow silently makes its way towards you, having effortlessly blended in with the darkness in that corner of the room. 

You can’t _breathe_. 

Their frame is too familiar: those broad shoulders and built arms, the narrow waist and the powerful hands.

_No, no, no_.

He steps out so that his face is halfway illuminated by the light, falling on his straight nose and full lips and chiseled jawline and those _eyes_ . The blue in them is like fire, scalding and dangerous and you _can’t breathe_.

When the smile stretches across his face, his white teeth glint in the light and _you cannot breathe._

He’s wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans, hands resting on his hips as he assesses you, weak and helpless in a hospital bed. You look so _small_.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Steve drawls, his smile somehow growing wider. 

“How-” you choke but he shushes you, taking slow, measured steps closer.

“I’ve told you so many times before, baby,” he reaches your bedside, hand coming out to stroke your cheek, cupping the side of your neck tenderly. “I’m always gonna find you.”

His eyes hand on your heaving chest, your nipples erect because of the coldness of the room, and they darken as he licks his lower lip. It makes bile rise in your throat, the acidic taste bitter and vile and-

He makes eye contact with you again, completely unflinching and not even blinking. The smile has fallen from his face as his thumb strokes the side of your neck in an action that is meant to be soothing but just makes your stomach turn.

“I think we need to have a little talk, hmm, baby?”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. ten, a big fat hen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader loses control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! <3 another sunday upload! also it's very possible that there are some errors in this - i apologize in advance :)
> 
> everything will come to light in due time but until then, any feedback is always welcome and appreciated and i hope you guys like this chapter! xx

Perched on the edge of your hospital bed rests your husband, the quiet anger and heavy emotion in his eyes making you squirm in your fragile state.

“W-w-w-wh-” you clear your throat, “what is there to even talk about, Steve?”

He scoffs in utter disbelief, looking away from you to shake his head before his eyes bore back into you. It makes you flinch, your fingers curling around the bedsheets so tightly that you think that it’s very possible that your nails might rip holes through them.

“You’re kidding me?” he asks you seriously and you avert your eyes, suddenly feeling _stupid_ because of _course_ there are so many things to talk about - you left him, your _husband_ , after he did what he thought was right for you. What was so bad about that?

“Right, sor-” you interrupt yourself, realizing that you’re being irrational because you don’t owe this man _anything_ after what he did to you. “No, wait- how the _fuck_ did you get in here anyway? I thought that you were going to have a conversation with Buck and Sam and Nat-”

His hand comes up to stroke your hair and he stares unfocused at a spot on the wall right above your head. 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he starts sternly, “but we did have a conversation. I think it’s safe to say that your stay here is over and you’ll be coming back home with me soon enough. We have a lot to discuss, honey.”

Tears prick at your eyes and you feel sick _again_ when his lips come down to press a gentle kiss onto your forehead. 

“What did you _say_ to them?” you can’t help the break in your voice nor the rivulets of panic that spill over onto your cheeks, rolling down to your chin. Steve’s locks onto one of them, admiring the way that the low light makes it reflect so beautifully off your face. You always cried so prettily. His hand moves down to adjust the crotch of his jeans and you can feel the acid in your throat as your blood runs cold. 

Steve then shrugs, face leaning into yours so that his tongue slowly peeks out from between his lips to lick up one of the salty trails like he’s done so many times before. Your mouth twists in disgust and you quickly shut your eyes - you don’t want to have to bear witness to what he’s doing to you. But you know you can’t speak up quite yet. It’d be best to bide your time until there’s an opportune moment to get as far away from his as possible. 

“I just told them the truth,” Steve replies to your question simply after pulling back from your cheek, eyes darting all over your face before they land on your lips. “It was the least I could do after you filled their heads with all those _stupid_ little stories of yours. Really, sweetheart, what were you thinking? They’re _my_ friends and they were mine long before they were yours. Who do you think they’re going to trust here, hmm? You?” he barks out a laugh that makes you feel downright humiliated. “Of course not.”

You try to take deep, steady breaths but they end up shuddering quite violently. Steve notices and laughs, though his eyes are still trained on your lips. Before you can say another word, his mouth has descended on yours, tongue pushing between your lips so that you can taste the saltiness of your tears. Panicked, you scream into his mouth but he just swallows it, his assault on your lips violent and unrelenting. Your mouth remains motionless as you let him kiss you, knowing that he can very easily overpower you if you try to resist now.

Your teeth clash in a moment of desperation on his part, and he takes this as a sign to lean back momentarily and you watch in sheer _horror_ as he leaves his perch at the end of your bed and climbs on top of you. His powerful thighs straddle your waist, his weight almost unbearable on top of you. Suddenly, you regret not moving sooner - now, you really have so little a chance of going anywhere. His lips are back on yours, interrupting whatever train of thought you had. The hospital gown is thin and your husband emanates nothing but _heat_ so the warmth of his body and the potent scent of his skin makes your head go fuzzy, all rational and lucid thought being thrown out the window. 

But that’s how it’s always been with Steve: intoxicating, intense, passionate. He takes your lower lip between his teeth, biting down on it harshly which makes you gasp and subsequently makes a deep, guttural moan leave his throat. Your tears are still running down your cheeks, breath coming in desperate pants. Steve sits up, his hair tousled and his lips swollen and red. Now that he’s in slightly better lighting, you catch all of the details that you initially missed about his face.

He’s got a scar near his lip, what you assume was a fresh cut earlier today but his enhanced healing seems to have solved that problem quite quickly. There’s evidence of what was likely to be a black eye earlier but is now only light purplish bruising on his ruddy skin. There’s a cut across the bridge of his nose. He catches you staring at his reddened lips and smirks, whipping his shirt over his head and your eyes go wide, instantly zeroing in on the deep purple and red patchwork spanning across his muscled torso. The gears in your head start turning. You can feel the beginnings of a headache.

To distract your mind from working overtime, Steve grinds his hips down into yours which elicits another gasp from you - he’s rock hard in his jeans and you can not only see his hardness but _feel_ it through your gown. You begin to realize exactly what he wants and you now you _know_ that you should’ve acted earlier. But a tiny part of you isn’t complaining about the specimen of the man on top of you. Does that make you sick?

_If you really didn’t want him here, then why didn’t you do something earlier? It’s because you want him here - you missed him. You had plenty of time to speak to F.R.I.D.A.Y-_

“F.R.I.D.A.Y!-” you call out, but Steve clamps a hand over your mouth, shushing you with a sinister grin on his face. 

“No, baby,” he coos, pressing soft kisses against your jaw as his bare chest rubs against your nipples. “She doesn’t even know I’m here… and you wouldn’t wanna ruin the surprise for everyone else, huh? Besides, even if you did wanna talk to her, she wouldn’t listen to you. She’s… taking a break from monitoring this room, honey. So it’s just you and me now - _the way it should be._ ”

Your eyes narrow, vision slightly blurry from your crying, and when you speak, your voice is muffled beneath the large hand of the supersoldier currently biting hickies into your neck. “But…how did you get in here then?”

He shushes you again, lips traveling down your neck to your covered collarbone as his deft fingers untie the strings holding the hospital gown together. The sensation of his mouth on your neck admittedly makes heat bloom in your core and you have to resist the way in which your eyes want to flutter closed. Your teeth gnaw at your lower lip, waiting for a response from him. When he snatches the flimsy garment off of your body, you know he’s not planning on giving you a response so you ask, rather _demand,_ an answer: “Steve, how the _fuck-_ ”

“Watch your fucking mouth, you stupid bitch,” he bites harshly, hands that were once so soft and gentle wrapping around your already bruised throat. The sensitivity of your already crushed windpipe makes you wince, the pain shooting through your neck almost unbearable. 

“ _Please_ ,” you whisper, gripping his wrists and trying fruitlessly to pry them from your sensitive throat. He lets up after a few seconds, admiring his handiwork almost arrogantly - you’re sure that there are a series of fresh marks marring the skin on your neck. You cough, desperately trying to intake air through your weak lungs. 

Meanwhile, Steve’s hands roam in a way that you can only describe as _possessively_ over your bare skin that has been stretched thin over your bones. Desire still flames bright in his eyes, even in the low light, and that makes you swallow loudly, as you’re still highly self-conscious about your changed body. You attempt to cover yourself with your arms but he anticipates your move, catching them mid-motion, and he licks his lips lasciviously. He doesn’t move for a second and you just _wish_ that there were people in this wing but everyone was several stories up on the residential floors. You’re truthfully completely alone.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” his voice and eyes soften when he says it, which in turn makes your heart warm until you _snap out of it_. You need to find a way to get out of here.

But before you can do anything, Steve _rips_ the IV out of your arm which makes you shriek, and he circles his arms around you, shifting his legs from underneath you and pulling you into his lap. Some more maneuvering ends up with the two of you having essentially switched places - your naked body is seated in his lap while Steve’s back rests against the headboard. He smirks mischievously and your heart drops, knowing what’s coming next. Your body starts to violently tremble as Steve continues to lave wet kisses all over your body.

“Steve, _please-_ ” you resort to begging, hoping that he won’t do this again. “-not like this.”

His only response is in the form of him undoing the button on his jeans but going no further. He looks up at you, licking your lips quickly before staring pointedly at his jeans. 

“Take ‘em off.”

It’s a command more than a suggestion or request and every bone in your body wants to obey him, but the fight that’s buried _somewhere_ deep within you refrains. 

“Steve, _no_ , we’re _not-_ ”

He silences your protest with a swift slap to your ass, so hard that the tears that you thought had dried start falling again. 

“You know that’s not my name, babydoll,” he tuts, running his blunt nails up and down your spine. The deep register of his voice causes more wetness to pool at your core, making you shift uncomfortably _right on top of Steve’s dick_. He moans lewdly before continuing. “And that was an order, darling. Take ‘em off.”

You nod, unstable hands slowly moving down to the zipper before another sharp slap hits your ass. You jump, wide eyes staring up at him questioningly. 

“I didn’t hear you, you dumb slut.”

Choking back a sob, you give him what he wants.

“Yes, Daddy.” 

You see his dick jump in his jeans but you choose to ignore it, some part of you a little hurt at the lack of praise. You make quick work of his jeans, tugging them down his strong legs when he brings his legs up so you can pass them over his feet and toss them on the floor. His cock is straining against the fabric of his grey Calvins and that’s a sight that you can’t bring yourself to ignore. You’re broken out of your trance by the abrupt feeling of his fingers running over the lips of your pussy. It’s a feeling that’s impossible to describe - you’re tempted to reach for the sick bucket that Bruce left by your bedside but at the same time, you lean into it, unable to help the wanton sound of pleasure that escapes your lips.

Steve’s eyes watch closely, admiring the way that you've thrown your head back in pleasure and appreciating the sensation of your nails digging into his shoulders as you hold onto them for dear life, fingers continuing that slow, torturous speed.

“Look at you - my pretty baby- so _wet._ You’re so wet for me, aren’t you darling? You were waitin’ here, waiting for me to come get you, huh? Such a good girl-” you hate to admit it but the praise makes you preen as you rock your hips against his fingers to find the friction that you desire. “So needy. You want your daddy, don’t you? Tell me how much you need your Daddy to make you feel good - c’mon, honey.”

Nothing else matters to you apart from your mounting pleasure, but you’re finding it hard to express exactly how much you want that coil wound tightly inside of you to snap. Steve gradually starts to increase the pace of his strokes, focusing on the little nub at the apex of your mound. That sends waves of pleasure through your body, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your hips start to pick up in speed too, moving desperately against Steve’s fingers.

“Tell me, baby. You’re not gettin’ what you want until you ask for it. ” Steve repeats himself and you know that he _hates_ to do it any more than once, and at this point, you’ll let _nothing_ ruin your approaching climax. So once again, you tell him what he needs to hear, what _you_ need to say for him to give you what you want.

“I need it, Daddy,” your small voice tells him, arms wrapping like a vice around his neck while you arch your back into his quick fingers. You bury your face into his shoulder as the chagrin that comes from your next words washes over you. “ _Please_ \- I need it so bad.”

Usually, that wouldn’t’ve been enough for Steve, but perhaps he’s decided to cut you some slack today because three of his thick fingers sink into your slick entrance, stretching your walls almost painfully, and he slaps your ass for the third time. 

“Ride ‘em, sweetheart.”

You don’t hesitate this time, the thumb of his hand pressed against your clit and rubbing small circles into it while the other three are curled just right inside of you so that every time you sink down, they hit that spot that makes your thighs quiver. You bounce up and down on him for what feels like only a few seconds before you can feel your walls tightening around his fingers and that coil inside of you snap. Tears leak out of the corners of your eyes at the intensity of it all; it blinds you momentarily, and your mouth is wide open in a silent scream as your body spasms on top of your husband. His lips are pressed against your shoulder, not kissing you or sucking marks into your neck, but just resting there as if he wants to do nothing more than feel you.

“Good girl,” he soothes you as you come down from your high with your chest heaving and vision bleary. “You did so good, taking my fingers like that - such a good girl.” His motions cease on your core, and his fingers coated in your slick come up to your mouth. Dutifully, you part your lips and he presses them onto your tongue. You wrap your lips around his fingers and suck passionately, eyes closed, and the tangy taste of your own release filling your mouth. When you finally look at Steve again, his eyes have darkened considerably, so much so that there’s only a sliver of his blue irises peeking out from behind his blown-out pupils. His eyelids are heavy when he, without breaking eye contact, reaches inside his boxers to pull out his heavy cock. The head is violently angry and weeping pre-cum, a sight that makes you involuntarily lick your lips.

_What am I doing?_

You silence the sensible voice in your head so that you can chase your pleasure in peace. Without hesitation, you wrap a hand around Steve’s length and guide it to your entrance. He looks down to where the two of you are about to be joined as you lift yourself up on your knees so that you can sink down onto his cock. 

“Such an eager little slut for her Daddy,” Steve coos, running his hand through your hair. 

You really can’t help but agree. 

Steve pulls back so that he can watch you lower yourself onto him, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he slowly fills you up. The stretch is delightful. You’re not even halfway down when you feel like you’re completely full already. 

“Come on, baby,” he encourages, hands palming your ass. “I know you can take it - take all of Daddy’s cock. C’mon, sweetheart, all the way.”

You push yourself down even further until you can feel the head of him poking at your cervix. The sensation makes you shiver when he bottoms out, his deep moan making your walls clench. You start moving slowly, trying to get used to the feeling of him inside you once again. He lets you take your time, hands on your waist and face completely blissed-out. You’re sure that you look the same. 

“That’s it, doll baby,” he moves you a little faster. “You’re doin’ so good, takin’ my cock like a fuckin’ champ.” 

His words are unclear in the haze of your mind, but you still soak up the praise like a fucking sponge. 

Steve presses his forehead against your slick skin, his breaths hot and heavy against your chest.

“Can’t wait to cum in you again, baby,” he begins, breathing becoming increasingly labored as you start to speed up further. “Been thinkin’ about it every night - puttin’ a baby in this sexy little body all over again…”

That thought throws you back into reality, and you start to return from your somewhat disassociative state and realize that you’re _riding your crazy husband in a hospital room after you just lost your baby._ You seriously consider grabbing the bucket by your bed as you slow down, your thoughts making you feel dirty and _dumb as shit_. This man does something to you - he makes you discard any and all common sense and captures you in intense desire, which is what has you ending up in compromising positions like this. 

Almost as if Steve can sense your sober thoughts coming back to you, his grip on your waist becomes painful as he starts thrusting up into you with unbridled intensity. You try to scream loudly but find that your throat is raw, so the sound comes out like that of a wounded animal. Steve’s lips come up to whisper in your ear.

“You know, before I got in here, I decided I wanted to make a quick little pit stop.”

His motions somehow become even more powerful.

“Just wanted to see what was up with my baby girl… so I read your medical reports,” that sentence coupled with his deep, nonchalant baritone makes your overheated body freeze. “Doll…”

The sound of your skin slapping his is deafening, and the sexual gratification that you were feeling only moments prior has diminished considerably, having been replaced with the familiar, weighty block of ice that you’ve come to know as fear settling within you.

“I can’t believe you were gonna keep my baby from me,” his tone is elated but the look on his face is murderous. “My sweet baby - you can’t hide from me, you know that. And you were gonna hide my son away, too? After we thought we lost him?”

Steve rutting into you is painful and you’re sure that his nails, though short, are drawing blood by the way that they’re sinking into your back. At this point, you don’t even realize that you’re crying - you’ve been crying all night. But you can tell that he’s almost reached his climax because his thrusts start to become sloppy and rushed, your own pleasure not of his concern any longer.

“We’re gonna be one big, happy family after this - when I - _fuck_ \- take you _home:_ where you belong, sweetheart,” he speaks through gritted teeth. “I’m gonna cum in you every day from now on, baby - can’t have you forgetting who you belong to. No more of this dramatic _bullshit_ . You’re _not_ going back to school-” his statement is punctuated by an especially rough drive into your pussy. “You’re _never_ coming back to this goddamn Compound-” another thurst. “And you’re absolutely _not_ leaving my side ever again, you hear me?”

Finally, a loud cry does leave your lips and that’s what pushes him over the edge, his release filling you with an unwelcome warmth that spreads throughout your core. Your shoulders shake with the ferocity of your sobs, and Steve circles his arms around you, still inside of you, and turns the two of you on your sides. He curls up behind you, one arm draped over your waist, that same hand running over your stomach.

“Sleep.” he commands with an air of finality. 

“I-I _can’t_ -”

“ _Go_ the _fuck_ to sleep, Y/N,” he hisses, nose burying into your neck. “We’re not wasting another drop of cum ever again,” he shifts inside you, half-hard again. “Even while you’re pregnant. We’re just practicing for the next one, yeah?”

His nose nuzzles into your neck sweetly, but it makes you arch your back away from him. 

“Now sleep. You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

“Wh- _what-_ ”

“C’mon, baby,” he sounds sleepier now. “Tomorrow is when you’re going to tell everyone the _truth._ You _begged me_ to fuck you. You want them to believe that you’re completely innocent in all this?” He pauses briefly to yawn. “And you’re comin’ home with me."

He then falls asleep, snores that rumble in his chest vibrating against your back. You continue to cry silently, not knowing where to go from here. Your brief lapse in judgment has caused you to end up with your husband that you _never wanted to see again_ spooning you in the _same_ hospital bed that he put you in. 

And just when you don’t think that your situation can get any more embarrassing, the door to your room is slowly pushed open and two silhouettes are standing in the door. 

“Y/N?” the two voices speak simultaneously, looking horrified when their eyes land on the person in bed with you. 

When your eyes land on Tony and Jeanette, you can’t help the fresh wave of tears that comes over you.

“What the _fuck?_ ”

  
  
  



	11. eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader makes a break for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry! i know this update is a week late but i temporarily lost some inspiration for this story but it's okay because here's another chapter! 
> 
> any feedback is always welcome and appreciated and i hope you guys enjoy this chapter! <3

Hastily and between sobs, you place a shaky index finger over your lips to tell them to  _ shut up _ because although Steve has the tendency to be a deep sleeper, you can’t guarantee that Tony’s exclamation isn’t going to wake him up. Luckily for you, they acquiesce though not without that look in their eyes - it’s something more than shock, more akin to anger but not quite there yet.

“What the  _ fuck _ , Y/N?” Tony hisses, slowly inching into the room, eyes trained unwaveringly on the snoring supersoldier who is clinging onto your waist like a lifeline. Jeanette follows closely behind Tony, eyes darting between you and Steve but the look in her eyes is more understanding when she notices your state of undress. 

You have to clear your throat a little, all of your crying having choked you up, before you address your friends in what’s barely a whisper. “Tony, it’s really not what it looks like, as much as that sounds-”

“ _ Really? _ ” Tony’s reached your bedside by now; he’s obviously seething and for good reason too. “You’re gonna feed me that line?”

“Tones-”

“ _ No _ , Y/N,” you haven’t heard him use your name so many times in the space of a minute before. “Go ahead,  _ explain  _ to me what in the  _ everliving fuck  _ is going on in here. Because it looks to  _ me _ \- and just hear me out here because I could be wrong - that  _ Steve  _ \- the same man who you claim to be desperate to get away from - is here in bed with you  _ naked as the day he was born _ and looking  _ very  _ cozy sleeping next to you, who is  _ also naked _ . Is that not what’s happening here?”

You have to inhale a deep breath through your nose so that you  _ won’t cry.  _ “Tony, I’m  _ trying to explain it to you _ -”

“ _ Fuck your explanation _ , Y/N!” he whisper-shouts at you, making you flinch back. “What - are you gonna try and justify this? What the  _ fuck _ -”

“Tony,” Jeanette places a gentle hand on his shoulder to both stop him from cursing you out and raising his voice loud enough to wake America’s golden boy. “Look at her.”

Tony - red-faced even in the dim light of the room - exhales sharply and sets his jaw before  _ finally  _ locking eyes with you. You have a feeling that they must betray quite a few of the tumultuous emotions that are stirring within you right now because you can see Tony visibly soften. His rigid straight posture relaxes and his jaw starts to tremble slightly. The chocolate brown of his eyes turns warm and you can’t stop the floodgates from opening back up again - not that you’ve really been able to recently, anyway. 

“ _ Princess _ -”

Tony pulls up the chair by your bedside and strokes his thumbs gently along the line of your jaw. You take care not to shake too much so as to keep Steve sleeping, but the powerful sobs that shake your body threaten to foil those plans. He presses a quick kiss to your cheek and you shut your eyes until they  _ fly back open  _ because Steve shifts against your back, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

Tony stills too, peering over at the large man. 

“Let’s get you out of here, hmm?”

You nod frantically, hands reaching out for Jeanette and she comes up right next to you and grabs them in her own. She smiles kindly at you, wiping residual tears from your cheeks. You open your mouth to try and defend yourself but she only shakes her head knowingly, giving you that same smile.

“I know,  _ mon chou _ , I know,” she shushes you, thumbs running over the backs of your hands. You’re so overwhelmed that you evidently didn’t realize when Tony left the room because he comes back in, phone in hand. You raise your eyebrows questioningly at him.

Tony huffs in annoyance. “I don’t know how the hell he got in here, but Sam, Bucky, and Nat are on their way. They’ll be here in a few minutes but until then, are you gonna tell us what happened?”

“Tony-” Jeanette starts in protest, gesturing to you but you shake your head. 

“It’s fine, Jeanette - he came in while I was sleeping, about - I don’t know - 45 minutes ago? He was just standing there…” And so you tell them about what happened, their faces contorted in expressions of worry and discontent. 

“...But it’s not like I wanted him to do it, you know?” you almost start crying  _ again _ , looking down at the rug beneath you. “It’s just that, I mean, when he’s around I feel like I  _ can’t  _ say no - like, do you get that? I told him I was fine with this but I knew he was going to do it regardless and-  _ I don’t know _ , maybe I deserve this-?”

Before Jeanette and Tony can even reprimand you for that last statement, the door is carefully pushed open and Steve snores extra loud, cheek now pressed against your back. First Nat, then Bucky, then Sam come through the door, all of them with their eyes glued on you and Steve in bed. Their expressions are nothing short of completely floored.

Then they smile.

“Look at them,” Sam nudges Bucky with his elbow and Bucky’s smile grows. “Just like old times, huh?”

Bucky nods, arms crossed over his chest. “You guys look good, kid,” he nods his head towards you, that  _ stupid grin  _ still plastered on his face. 

Needless to say, you’ve never been so confused in your entire life. 

“ _ What the shit _ ?” Jeanette murmurs under her breath, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them. You can’t even speak - your breath starts coming faster and faster before Jeanette squeezes your hand that still rests in hers firmly, attempting to ground you. 

“Tones, why’d you call us?” Natasha asks, seemingly  _ bewildered  _ but you don’t see any way she could be. “Seems like they’ve worked it out, just like Steve said they would-”

“Yeah,  _ okay _ , I’m gonna have to stop you there” Tony interrupts her by holding a hand up, and then he stares heavenwards, blinking rapidly as if that would give him an answer as to exactly what is going on in this goddamn room. “Someone’s gonna have to explain to me what the hell’s going on here because frankly, I’m lost.”

Bucky and Sam’s brows furrow at the same time and Natasha quirks an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean…?” Sam shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around, finally making eye contact with you before frowning deeply after seeing your tear-stained cheeks and shaking body. “Is she ok- are  _ you  _ okay, Y/N? Oh god, is it the baby-?”

“It’s not the  _ goddamn  _ baby!” Tony shouts - quietly - and shuts everyone up. “What the  _ fuck  _ did he tell you guys?”

The three Avengers on the other side of the room look at each other curiously, somehow having a conversation with their eyes - something that you’ve only ever seen Tony and Rhodey and Bucky and Steve do before - and then Natasha sighs, placing her hands on her hips.

“I don’t know exactly what’s going on here,” she confesses, slowly drawing towards you. “But that talk we had with Steve earlier really cleared some stuff up for us. I mean, I thought we were all on the same page about this-”

“Spit it out, Romanov,” Tony pins her with a glare so fierce that even you cower back. Natasha, though, remains firm in her stance. 

“Look, Steve explained everything to us and you guys don’t have to say anything else because we already know what’s going on,” Natasha says, hands on her hips. “He said that you guys are having some trouble, just like you said, but then some of the details kind of differed and honestly, we weren’t exactly sure who to believe-”

“Bullshit,” Tony barks at her, rolling his eyes. “You know what Romanov, I never pegged you as the type.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Natasha responds defensively.

“It means,” Tony strolls leisurely towards the assassin, chest out and chin up. “I never pegged you as the type to so blatantly disrespect me in my own home.”

“Tony-”

“ _ What did he say to you, Natasha?” _

“He showed us her medical records from the past few years,” Sam blurts out, running a hand over his face. “Said she was under a lot of stress - I mean, the results add up… said that’s why she’s been freakin’ out,” Sam shrugs. “She’s got tons of prescriptions in their bathroom for all these different medications which he told her not to mix-”

“-and she did,” Bucky completes slowly, eyes still cloudy and unsure.

Tony curses loudly, running his fingers through the strands of his brown hair, mussing up his already messy bedhead. “And the bruises?”

“Self-harm,” Natasha replies quietly, boring holes into the carpet. “He said that she’d go crazy and  _ hurt herself _ -”

“And you believed this  _ bullshit _ ?” The look on Tony’s face shows how disappointed he is. “What- what kind of- where did he get these medical records?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky speaks up. “Even we were skeptical at first… but they were real, Tony. None of us picked up on anything that looked even remotely suspicious-”

“And it never occurred to you that he fabricated it so it would look that way?” Jeanette’s voice comes softy from the corner of the room. Everyone’s head whips to face her and if this situation wasn’t so tragic, you think it’d almost be funny to watch the realization dawn on the faces of your husband’s best friends.

“No- I mean, you know, in the beginning,” Bucky breathes. “But you guys didn’t  _ see him _ \- I’ve never seen him look like that before. He was distraught - like he didn’t know what to do with himself. My gut was tellin’ me that he was tellin’ the truth… but then I thought about  _ you _ , killer. I-  _ we  _ were totally torn. You were so  _ sad _ but so was he...”

And just like that, any anger you were feeling prior to this moment dissipates at the kicked puppy look on James Buchanan Barnes’ face. 

“And now,” he continues, lifting his arm up to gesture between you and Steve. “I don’t know - seeing this for sure confirms what Steve said… he told us he was gonna fix it, make everything better. Should’ve seen the look on the punk’s face- he was  _ determined _ . We thought you guys would kiss and make up and this nightmare would be over… But lookin’ at you, I’m startin’ to think I don’t really know who my best friend is after all.”

Natasha and Sam listen attentively to Bucky’s words, failing to make eye contact with you. Bucky slowly walks towards Tony, reaching inside his pocket and pulling something shiny out. 

It’s a wonder that Steve still hasn’t woken up. 

“Oh, you  _ did  _ bring it,” Tony inspects the weapon, turning it over in his hands while Bucky joins Jeanette in sitting on the edge of your bed. He puts his hands on top of the both of yours, face twisted in a remorseful expression and you can’t bring yourself to put any blame on him; it would be hypocritical because after all, you both made the same mistake: you assumed that you could trust Steve Rogers. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers brokenly and you’ve never seen him so emotional. All you can do is nod, a watery smile on your face that hopefully conveys the fact that you do indeed forgive him. 

Sam, having broken out of whatever state he was in, strolls towards you too, running a hand over the top of your head. You nod again, grabbing his wrist and squeezing it. There are tears in his brown eyes and you wish you could give him a hug. 

“I’m sorry, too,” he sighs. “We’re the reason he got in… thought it’d be best if you guys could talk it out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, gaze drifting past the two men by your bed and falling on the only person other than Tony who would know how to disable F.R.I.D.A.Y standing behind everyone. She’s staring out the window, only giving you a glimpse of her shadowy profile. You decide that you won’t push, only running your thumb over the skin of Sam’s wrist. 

The somewhat peaceful moment is broken by the sound of something whizzing through the air. The body behind you jerks and goes limp, the grip on your waist slackening completely and the snores going silent. You stare at Tony in shock as he twirls the gun nonchalantly in his hand and shrugs. 

“ _ What? _ ” he asks, raising an eyebrow at everybody’s astounded expressions. “ _ God, _ you’d think I killed him. It’s just a tranq gun - I’m not that crazy.” 

Unthinkingly, you fling your arms around Jeanette’s neck making her body vibrate with a chuckle. “Thank you, guys.”

Tony clears his throat and stares pointedly at your body and you can feel the beginnings of embarrassment claw at you. In your haste, you seem to have forgotten that you’re  _ not wearing clothes  _ and where the sheet covered that before, your bare breasts are now on show for everyone in the room. 

But you find that you don’t care. 

Tony whips off his sweatshirt and throws it in your face, making you scowl before you slip it over your head. You can feel the evidence of Steve’s violation on the insides of your thighs which makes you wince, but you climb out of bed and pull your panties on, longing desperately to take a shower. 

“Okay,” Tony claps, finally speaking at a normal volume that sounds  _ too loud  _ because you’ve all been whispering for the past fifteen minutes. “We’ve gotta get her out of here.”

“Agreed,” Bucky says, pulling you onto his lap for a warm bear hug that makes a giggle bubble up in your chest. 

“No, not just out of  _ here _ ,” Tony sighs, running his hand over his face. “I mean preferably out of the country.”

The whole room seems to freeze, even you. 

“What?” you interject, eyes round and mouth open. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” Tony nods. “There’s no way either of you is going to get any better if you’re around each other all the time. The Compound was nice for a few days, but I can guarantee you that it’s not a long-term solution. There’s no way that we can keep him away from her  _ and  _ still be going on missions.”

Your heart sinks because, although you know Tony doesn’t mean it in that way, you feel like a burden. Who are you to impose on the lives of all of these extremely kind people, people who put their lives on the line for the entire world? In the grand scheme of things, you and your trivial problems are insignificant - people are dying on such a large scale and without these people, it’s very likely that the world would already be in ruin. You don’t want to keep them away from their duty to everybody else. 

“Tony-”

“Absolutely  _ not _ -”

“I don’t want her so far away-”

“No,” you interrupt, sitting up straight in Bucky’s lap, already having made up your mind. “I’ll go.”

“ _ What?”  _ Jeanette stares at you in complete disbelief, placing her hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, have you even really thought about this - what this all  _ really means _ ?”

You nod slowly, running the tip of your tongue over your teeth. “Not really, but we don’t have the time for all that, do we? He’s gonna wake up eventually,” you gesture towards your knocked-out husband who has a tranq dart sticking in the side of his neck, “and he’ll come for me. I don’t want to take up any more of you guys’ time-”

“ _ Y/N- _ ”

“You know that’s not-”

You hold your hand up and power through. “I’ll go. Did you have anywhere in mind, Tony?”

“Well really, that’s up to you, Y/N _. _ I could make your new life work  _ anywhere _ , you’d just have to tell me where-”

“France,” you cut him off. 

Tony pauses for a beat before staring at you blankly. “ _ Really? _ ”

You nod vehemently in response, subconsciously stroking a hand over your stomach. “It’s too obvious: Jeanette lives there and he knows that. He’d assume that I’m too smart to do something so obvious - so yes, Tony: France.”

\---

You’ve just gotten out of the shower and are pulling on a pair of black leggings and one of  _ maybe Bucky’s?  _ black Henley’s when you hear the door click. You turn around, struggling to pull your white trainers on when your eyes fall on Natasha Romanov. You stop jumping around wildly, let go of your foot and clear your throat, straightening up.

“Hi,” you greet softly.

“Hi,” she purses her lips, this time not looking away from your eyes. 

“Did- uh, did you- did you need something?” you look around, gesturing vaguely. Natasha only smirks at you, her laugh a singular exhale through her nose. 

“God, you’re something else, you know?” she sits on the sofa across from you in the dark room. You don’t know what  _ exactly  _ she means by that, but if there’s anything that Natasha Romanov is, it’s mysterious. So you shrug casually and continue putting your shoes on. “No, I just- I came here to say sorry.”

Your shoelaces slip out of your fingers and your eyebrow arches, though you don’t say anything. 

“I’m sure you know I was the one who-” she clears her throat, “the one who disabled F.R.I.D.A.Y-”

“Natasha, it’s fine-”

“ _ No _ , it’s really not,” she tells you “It’s not. I’ve had this- this almost  _ blind faith  _ in Steve for years now. And I know that’s no excuse but I just hope that you can forgive me-”

“ _ I do- _ ”

“No, you don’t,” her eyes bore into yours. “You  _ want to _ but you don’t, at least not yet. Just know that I’m really going to miss you. I’m really going to miss having another female around here-”

“Natasha-”

“That’s all I came to say,” she rubs her hands on her jeans and stands up, turning towards the door. “I’ll go now. Be safe, Y/N.”

You can’t get another word in because the door shuts with a resounding click once again.

\---

You step off the quinjet with Tony and Jeanette on your tail, walking down the ramp with a look of complete awe on your face. 

“Well,” Tony grunts, “this is the best I could do on short notice and if you wanna move at any time, just let me know-”

You interrupt him by launching yourself at his person, almost making him topple over completely. Squeezing the life out of him, he laughs and does the same. Jeanette runs over to envelop you in her arms as well, and you can almost cry from the amount of love that you have for these people. 

Tony picked the small city of Vienne, taking into account the fact that it’s close enough to Lyon so that Jeanette can visit you regularly. The house that he’s set up for you is one of his newer properties and is in the middle of rolling green fields, essentially the middle of nowhere. It’s all white brick and French country windows with a ridiculously large backyard because  _ the kid’ll need space to run around _ . 

“Tony, I don’t even know how to thank you,” you begin but your surrogate older brother only scoffs. 

“No need,” he insists, holding you by your shoulder’s at an arm’s length. “I love you, okay? There’s no way he’ll find you here. And if he does, we’ll know as soon as it happens: I’ve got J.A.R.V.I.S in there with you. Now, have a blast you two. I’ve gotta figure out what to do with an unconscious supersoldier back at the Compound.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and then Jeanette’s. “I’ll be back soon, m’kay?”

“Of course,” you gush, grabbing onto your best friend’s hand and looking around at your new house. “I love you too, Tones - we  _ both do _ . I’ll see you later.”

When the quinjet disappears into the afternoon sky, you turn back to Jeanette with a wide grin on your face. She’s agreed to stay with you for the next year, throughout the pregnancy and a little after that just to make sure that you’re completely settled. 

“So,” Jeanette looks at the house and then you, a blindingly bright smile on her face. “I’m tired - nap time?” 

You nod automatically and realize that, for the first time in a long time, you feel completely safe and are genuinely looking forward to what the future holds for you.    
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! xxx


	12. twelve, dig and delve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a peek into the reader's little slice of heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! sorry about this extremely late update - it was like every time i tried to sit down and write this i was physically incapable of doing so. it just sat as a blank document on my laptop for ages but it's done now :)
> 
> as per, any feedback is always welcome and appreciated! the support for this story means so much 🥺
> 
> hope you like this one as much as i do! enjoy! <3

Your mahogany wicker basket is threatening to spill over with an assortment of greens, reds, oranges, and yellows, all of the fruits and vegetables that you’ve grabbed for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow filling it to the brim. Lifting the basket carefully, you lift open the white leather seat of your Vespa and squeeze your produce into the compartment, heaving a sigh of immense relief when it just about fits inside. You push down the seat on your pale green scooter and push it away from the rail, swing a leg over it, start it up, and take off down the narrow streets away from the weekly farmer’s market.

You fell in love with the scenic town as soon as you landed, but you were initially worried that you’d fall out of love with it as quickly as you became enamored with it. But luckily, the beauty of it all hasn’t escaped you quite yet. The rust-colored rooves and worn white coats of paint on the crowded houses that positively burst with culture and familial love alike stole your heart a long time ago, the friendliness of your neighbors and everybody else in the town making you feel at home almost immediately despite the fact that you weren’t completely proficient in the language when you first got here.

You turn a corner and then slow down because the aquamarine tides underneath the grey stone of the main bridge in the city always give you pause. The water is so blue that you can see right through it, and you can’t help but let your eyes linger on the beauty and serenity of the virtually undisturbed natural ecosystem right beneath you. Turning onto the bridge, you do what you usually do and drive right up against the side of it, peering down into the depths below. On more than one occasion, you’ve very nearly lost control of your vehicle, a second away from hitting the edge and catapulting yourself into the river. But since it hasn’t happened yet, you still continue to do it, but never around Jeanette because you’re convinced that she would genuinely kill you. It’s all worth it though, and you remember this when you see a team of grey ducks swim with the current, heading underneath the bridge. You don’t get the time to really sit down and admire them because you’re on something of a tight schedule, but you make a mental note to come back and feed them -  _ not bread because it’s not good for them  _ \- later on. 

The light wind blows against your face as you weave through the tiny streets that lead out of the town, reaching the wider but rougher country roads that used to be a nightmare with your old bike. Now, although they’re not the smoothest, they’re no longer a chore to drive through. Briefly, you lift your wrist up to check the time and curse quietly - you must’ve spent more time on the bridge than you thought. 

A car horn beeps at you softly and you look up to spot the sweetest lady - Manon, who bakes you beignets every week - in her little yellow ‘72 Volkswagen Beetle. Her window’s down and her hand is extended out the window, waving at you enthusiastically. You laugh jovially matching her energy and waving back just as excitedly. She blows you a quick kiss and you catch it out of the air, prompting a laugh from her as she whizzes past you.

You drive straight on for just a little bit longer, slowly seeing more and more trees line the sides of the road the further you get into the countryside until they almost shield you entirely from the sun. Finally, you turn right at a little side road that would be pretty much invisible if you weren’t looking for it. It’s paved much like the road you were just on, but it’s narrower than the roads in the town itself, the perfect width for your scooter. The vegetation intensifies, the rustling of the tree leaves and the distant sound of the wind in your ears making the atmosphere feel entirely tranquil. You’re almost home now, so you speed up a little, not having to worry so much about other people on the road. 

When the small road widens again, you know you’ve finally reached the place you’ve come to know as home. The cobbled driveway is long and bumpy, making your whole body vibrate as you drive up. The white house comes into view, the tall columns supporting the equally tall walls and the thin lines of the doors and the windows shining in the mid-afternoon light. You circle around the top of your driveway, avoiding the excessively large marble fountain in the middle - Tony’s doing - as well as the lush green hedges that line it and everything else in your front garden. 

  
You’ve known for a long time that Tony’s has something of a fetish for landscaping but you think this is overkill.

There’s something of an entire forest behind the house; the trees are a gorgeous backdrop to your home and provide some much-needed shade to the backyard on those too-hot summer days much like this one. Sighing tiredly, you steer your scooter through the open garage doors and park it there, grabbing your basket out before locking it. You then head out of the garage after pressing a button to shut the doors. 

You fumble with both your keys and the heavy basket in your hands, eventually hoisting the basket into your arms, resting it on your left side while you use your right hand to shove your key in the front door. Twisting it right, you shove the door open with your hip and heave a sigh of relief when you finally make it inside, a powerful blast of air conditioning cooling your overheated body. Dropping your produce, you spin around to lock the door behind you when you hear the uneven patter of bare feet on the hardwood floors of the atrium, the sound softening when those feet hit the plush rug in the middle of the room but then getting louder and faster as they near you. 

“ _ Mama _ !” The voice exclaims sweetly and you can feel tiny hands tugging on the back of your worn red sundress. You look over your shoulder only to see the light of your life, fully turning around then just to scoop him up into your arms, pressing kisses all over his chubby cheeks. 

Antoni James Rogers grins brightly at you, giggling loudly and squirming in your arms. When he opens his eyes, your breath catches as if you’re seeing them for the first time all over again. The vibrance of those baby blues reminds you so much of the river in town and just like the river, those eyes stole your heart the minute you saw them. Maybe that’s why you spend so much time admiring the beauty of that body of water that flows underneath the bridge; it reminds you so acutely of your son - your son, who reminds you so much of his father. 

Everything from those insanely long eyelashes to the way that some of the flaxen strands that weave through his unruly chocolate-colored hair - “ _ the same color as Steve’s dad”, Tony said  _ \- glow golden in the sunlight, there’s no doubt about the fact that this is Steve’s child through and through. On top of that, he’s got that same stupid lopsided smile that always makes your heart flutter. 

When he was first born, you were convinced that you were really just the vessel for Steve’s child: you couldn’t see any similarities between you and the boy currently resting his head on your shoulder with his thumb stuck in his mouth. However, upon closer inspection, you were satisfied to see that he has your nose and eyebrows and your eye shape. 

It was the small things, the little victories that you revel in because at first, you weren’t sure if any of this was worth it. For about a month, you had no idea if you even wanted to keep the baby, going back and forth between the idea before you decided that you were as safe as you could get, so if there was any time to have a child, it would be now. Thankfully, you were able to finish your Ph.D. from Vienne, and you received your doctorate about two months before Antoni was born. 

The name was a point of contention for months, you and Jeanette pouring through baby books for weeks before your due date. At that point, you still didn’t know the gender - Steve’s guess back in the hospital room had been lucky - but you were already halfway convinced that it was going to be a boy anyway. So you had asked the team for suggestions. 

Both Bucky and Rhodey were huge advocates for James -  _ surprise, surprise _ \- and you brushed them off, letting them think that you hadn’t already decided that it was going to be the middle name for your unborn son. Jeanette was the one who had suggested Anthony and you’d loved the suggestion right off the bat, but you knew that you wanted it to be just a little bit different from Tony’s. If your son’s direct namesake was  _ genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist _ Anthony Edward motherfucking Stark, you knew that he’d always feel like he had big shoes to fill. You didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on him. So when you were looking for variations of the name -  _ Antoine  _ was a top contender since he’d be born in France - but then you found Antoni, meaning  _ priceless _ , and you couldn’t help but think that it was so fitting for your little angel baby. 

Tony had no idea, of course. When he came over for the first time since the baby was born with Pepper - about a week after - he asked what his name was, so you introduced your son to your surrogate brother. His eyes went glossy and it was almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Pepper was full-on sobbing, winding her arms around your neck in a gentle hug before Tony came up behind her, almost crushing all three of you with the bruising hug that he gave you. 

Now, three years later, you still get monthly visits from the couple, because their previously bi-monthly visits were not frequent enough for your son. Multiple times a week, he’d ask when  _ Uncle Tony and Auntie PepPep  _ were coming over and upon hearing about it, Tony’s heart promptly melted and he decided to come as often as he could without drawing any suspicion to himself, also having to work around him and Pepper’s insanely packed schedules. Sometimes only Tony would come, other times just Pepper, but everyone could agree that the times when they came together were the best. Either way, they’d bring your niece - Morgan, or  _ Momo _ to your son - who was the apple of both you and Antoni’s eyes. Sam calls frequently too, only having visited a few times over the years, as does Natasha. She lives for her scarce visits because, unable to have children of her own, she adores the total innocence of children, the beauty of their naivete. 

“So what did you and Auntie J do while Mama was out, hmm?” You look to your son, using your index finger to gently pull at his wrist so that his thumb slips out of his mouth. His face slips into a pout but he knows better than to complain by now. He starts to babble semi-coherently about what he got up to while you were gone as you kick your slip-ons off your feet, leaving them next to the basket. 

“And  _ Mama _ ,” Antoni smacks your shoulder, trying to get you to pay attention to him while your own bare feet pad quietly against the hardwood of the living room where you spy Jeanette sitting with her back against the armrest. 

“Yes, baby,” you say distractedly, stepping over stray Legos and toy cars and dolls. 

“When’s Momo coming?” He whines, reaching up to tug on your hair impatiently. You wince and side-eye him until he stops, a cheeky smile on his face. Grasping him underneath the arms, you settle him on your best friend’s lap before collapsing on the couch like a bag of bones. Antoni crawls down Jeanette’s extended legs until he’s at her feet, hands wrapped around her ankles and eyes locked on your face, waiting for his answer.

“Soon, sweetie,” you check your watch again before running a hand over your face with a groan. By  _ soon _ , you mean that they’d be here in a few hours which means that you have to start cooking. And by  _ they _ , you mean Bucky and Rhodey too. When they heard about Antoni’s middle name, they fought the powerful urge to come and visit him right away. But since they have a little less free reign than Tony, they can’t come over nearly as often. In fact, Rhodey hasn’t seen him in about six months, while Bucky hasn’t seen him in nearly a year. All of you can only really afford to gather altogether like this once a year - it takes a crazy amount of preparation to make sure that Steve doesn’t suspect what’s going on. They have to find some underground, covert solo mission for Steve than spans over the course of at least a week. And unfortunately for you, those don’t come around too often anymore. 

“Remember,” you remind your son gently, “it’s not just Uncle Tony and Auntie Pepper this time-”

“PepPep!” He interrupts you, clapping his hands together happily, giving you a toothy smile. Jeanette chuckles from her place across from you.

“Yeah, honey, PepPep. Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Bucky will be here too.”

“‘ucky?” The way that Antoni’s eyes light up is almost comical. The two boys share a bond that you don’t really understand, but it was established from a very early age. You’ve never seen Bucky so soft. You’d always thought that he was a big baby when he was around you, but this was a completely unprecedented change in his personality. Around Morgan as a baby, he’d been terrified to hold her, barely interacting with the girl until she was confidently walking because he was so scared of crushing her. 

However, with Antoni, his eagerness to hold him as a newborn surprised you. Every time he looks at Antoni, it’s as if he’s staring at the eighth wonder of the world. In fact, Bucky video calls every other weekend to see his godson; sometimes those calls last for minutes, other times hours. His new favorite pastime is reading him to sleep, borrowing books from Morgan so that he can see Antoni’s little face pressed into the teddy bear Bucky bought him that’s almost the size of his entire body. 

You nod your head, pushing Antoni’s mane of hair back from his face so that you can press a kiss to his forehead before standing up. His attention has already wavered, playing with Jeanette’s toes with a look of fascination on his face. 

“Hey,” Jeanette speaks up, causing your eyes to meet. “Do you need any help in there?”

“If you could do dessert, that would be much appreciated,” you massage your temples. “We’ve got to cook for about fifteen people.”

You see confusion cloud Jeanette’s face before she frowns at you. “But only eight-”

“Buck’s gonna be here,” you point out, grabbing a white bandana from the coffee table to keep your hair out of your face. She only nods, giving you a knowing smile before placing her tablet down to play with her godson. 

You’re exhausted but unable to contain your excitement about seeing your best friends again. Yes, you have problems like having to cook a huge meal and the fact that you’ll probably have to go all the way back into town tomorrow just to get more groceries. But these are good problems, good problems that you’d rather have over anything else.

\---

Three hours later, you’re leaning with your back against the island countertop, arms folded across your chest while Jeanette sits on a barstool behind you, head in her hands. As much as you’ve come to really enjoy cooking over the past few years - now that you’ve actually had time to do it instead of just ordering takeout because you’re slammed with work - making food for so many people all at once is an exhausting activity. That being said, you think that you and Jeanette pulled it off pretty flawlessly. 

You had to put Antoni down for a nap before you started because he loves being in the kitchen when you’re making food, and it’s so sweet how he tries to help but sometimes, he’s more of a hindrance. Also, you knew for a fact that he would not make it through tonight’s entire dinner if he didn’t sleep for a while before. 

“We did good,” Jeanette admits, looking at the spread of food in front of you. “I’ll go put this all away - you should go get some rest. We’ve probably still got about an hour or two until everyone gets here so go take a nap. I’m sure Antoni will wake you up when he’s ready to get dressed. But I’d give him, like, another hour before that happens.” Jeanette slips off of her seat and grabs a few bowls and their covers to put in their respective places. You stand there for a moment more just staring at her until she narrows her eyes at you, pinching your ass playfully before shooing you out of the kitchen. You yelp in pain and then kiss her cheek, basically running up the stairs to collapse onto your bed. 

\---

“Mama,  _ wake up _ ,” you hear, making you groan and bury your face into your pillow. You don’t hear anything for a while, making you think that he’s gone to find Jeanette, but then the weight of a toddler’s body jumps onto your back, knocking the wind out of you and waking you up completely. Dinner’s supposed to start at around 7:30, so you glance at the clock on your bedside table to see how much time you have to make yourself look like less of a mess. It’s only 6:53, which gives you plenty of time to get not only you but the boy currently bouncing on your back looking presentable. 

“I’m up, baby,” you tell him groggily, rubbing at your eyes and turning on your side, taking Antoni by surprise as he falls off of your back and onto the mattress beside you. He can’t control his laughter, clapping happily and shouting  _ again, again _ \- you give him a playfully scolding look and the chanting stops, but his face is still split in a gleeful smile. You lean over him to blow a raspberry into his cheek before patting his bottom twice, signaling for him to get up. 

“C’mon, Antoni,” you yawn, stretching your arms above your head. “We gotta get ready to see Auntie Pepper and Momo and Uncle Tony-”

“-and ‘ucky?” The boy on the bed asks hopefully. You laugh, lifting him into your arms and staring at his thick hair, wondering how you’re going to manage to wrangle that into an acceptable style in so little time. 

“Yeah, baby,” you nod, “and Bucky.” 

Walking into the bathroom, you place Antoni down on top of the toilet as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You’d gained all of that lost weight back - and then some after the pregnancy - and the healthy glow that your skin had before Steve has returned full-force. Your lips curve into a smile as you turn on the tap to wash your face. 

Sure, you think about him often, although it’s a lot less frequently than you used to. There’s no way that you can avoid any of those thoughts when you’re staring at his mini-me every day. But there’s none of that paranoia left. Even on days like this when all of these people who were once so close to the super-soldier are coming over, you’re not scared of him finding you anymore. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders: you no longer have reason to worry about him encroaching on your little slice of heaven. You don’t even ask about him anymore - all it was doing was hurting you, hearing about how distraught he was especially when everything that’d happened up to your disappearance was caused by him. 

You’re sure that he’s forgotten about you anyway. Some days, you used to think that you wanted him to move on, but that concept causes your heart to inexplicably sink despite all that he did to you. A small part of you still has so much love for that man, the man that you met before you got married. Your Stevie. But you haven’t seen Steve in a long time, so there is no need to pine after him; you aren’t even sure if he still exists. You’re enjoying your time alone here with your son and your best friend too much to long for parts of your old life. 

But thoughts are intrusive sometimes and each day, you can’t help but wonder how much longer this serenity can last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! xxx


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